Fire Dragon
by sunne
Summary: Their friendship was unlikely, but as time went on, she got to know the real person behind the cold mask. Friendship is golden when the world turns black. Take what you can get, and hold on to those you have. Eventual DHr and nonhuman Draco later on.
1. Antiquus Signum

**Author's Note – **Welcome to Fire Dragon. I hope you enjoy this first chapter. You can expect an update every Friday. Remember to review when you're finished reading. I enjoy hearing what my readers think. Don't forget!

**Another Note** – This fanfic begins during fourth year. However, it is going to focus mainly on the Draco/Hermione aspect of the plot. That means, that while the canon events JKR created will be present, they may either be merely mentioned in passing or changed as time goes on. I expect to take this fanfic through seventh year, and possibly beyond. The chapter title "Antiquus Signum" means loosely "Ancient Runes" in Latin. Technically, "signum" means "sign," but I couldn't find the equivalent to "rune" in Latin, so "signum" will have to do.

**Disclaimer - **::looks at self in mirror:: Nope, I'm definitely not JK Rowling. That means I don't own Harry Potter and all that that entails. It is merely my jungle gym where I go and twist things into funky shapes.

**Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter One**

"Antiquus Signum"

* * *

Hermione Granger sat at her house's table in the Great Hall Monday morning of the second week of school. The enchanted ceiling revealed a cloudless sky, spotted with flocks of migrating birds, and the sun shining brightly. _Spellman's Syllabary_, by Sheila Spellman, sat wide open before her, her finger easily gliding across the page as she read. Brushing a lock of curly, chestnut hair out of her eyes, she turned the aged and yellowed page. Picking up a piece of lightly buttered toast from the plate next to her right elbow, she munched on her breakfast as she soaked up the knowledge contained in the ancient book. 

"Honestly, Hermione." Ron Weasley said, sitting down next to her. "Studying at breakfast." He shook his head, piling eggs and sausages onto his plate.

"Education is important, Ron," she said, paying more attention to the book than Ron.

"But it's only the second week of school," he said through a mouthful of eggs and toast.

She grimaced at him, flicking a speck of egg from the sleeve of her robes. "Yes," she said, "but next year is OWLs and I want to be prepared."

Ron's eyes bulged, his mouth hanging open, a half-chewed sausage visible. "OWLs?"

"Yes, OWLs," she said simply.

"But they aren't until the end of next year. Why are you worrying about them now?"

She slid him a look. "I like to be prepared."

"You're barmy," he said, staring at her openly.

"He has a point Mione," Harry said, sliding onto the bench beside Hermione. "The OWLs aren't until next year, and you're the smartest witch in our year. I think you'll be ok." Deftly, he reached over and expertly grabbed _Spellman's Syllabary_, removing it from the table.

"But-" she said, her hand following her book as it disappeared beneath the table.

"Nope," Harry said. "You are going to spend one breakfast without a book."

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione glared at Harry as he ignored her, grabbing a stack of toast. Then, giving up, she huffed quietly and returned to her own breakfast.

From the rafters above, the owls came, carrying letters and packages. One in particular soared down to Hermione, as one did everyday, and dropped an issue of the _Daily Prophet_ beside her plate and waited, pecking at her toast.

"Just a moment," she said, leaning over and rummaging around in her bag, one hand gripping the edge of the table. Sitting back up, she dropped seven knuts into the leather bag tied to the owl's foot and watched as the owl swooped back up and disappeared. Opening the paper, she scanned the headlines, looking for anything interesting.

"Anything good?" Ron asked, leaning to read over Hermione's shoulder.

"No…" she said, flipping the page. "Oh, there's an article comparing and contrasting the curriculum in Wizarding schools and Muggle schools." Interest lit up in her eyes, and she began reading.

"Can I at least have the Quidditch section?"

"When I'm finished," she said, waving her hand dismissively at him.

"Come on, it's not like you're going to read it."

Sighing through her nose, Hermione quickly turned to the Quidditch section, giving it to Ron before returning to her article. Ron began excitedly chatting with Harry about some team or another, and she tuned them out.

The bell rang, the sound of which bonged heavily through the Great Hall. Students and teachers alike gathered up their belongings, shoving one last bite of toast or spoonful of eggs into their mouths before heading out. Hermione followed Harry and Ron, dismissing their Quidditch babble. Halfway to the Greenhouse Three, she stopped suddenly. Harry and Ron, sensing her pause, turned, looking at her questioningly.

"Harry, where's my book?" she asked, her eyes wide with worry.

"Your book?" He tilted his head to the side.

"_Spellman's Syllabary_," she said.

His face dawned with comprehension and then regret. "I'm sorry Mione. I forgot it; it's in the Great Hall," he said. "I'll go back with you and get it," he said, taking a few steps towards her.

She shook her head, already turning and jogging back to the castle. "No need," she said. "Just tell Professor Sprout that I'll be a few minutes late."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and turned around, walking the rest of the way to Greenhouse Three with Ron.

Hermione dashed across the lawn and up the stairs to the oak front doors, pushing them open with both arms and slipping inside. Running across the Entrance Hall, she crashed into another person, their legs becoming entangled, both falling to the ground.

"Watch where you're going, Granger," Draco Malfoy growled, his pale, blond hair in disarray and his eyes a wall of cold steel.

Hermione looked up in surprise and quickly extricated herself from the fuming Malfoy heir. Standing up, she brushed off her robes and watched as Draco go to his feet, sneering the entire time.

Running his hands along his clothing, he glared at her. "Filthy Mudblood," he shot out at her, his eyes cruel and awaiting her reaction.

"Really Malfoy," she said. "One would have thought you'd grown up by now." The scathing remark slid from her mouth easily, and before Draco could reply, Hermione turned on her heel and entered the Great Hall, letting the door slam behind her.

* * *

That afternoon, Hermione stood on the second floor waiting for the staircase to move, her foot tapping impatiently and her eyes checking her watch every few moments. Finally, with a sound like two stones grinding together, the stairs slowly moved from the third floor to the fifth floor. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she tightened the hold on her book under her arm and sprinted up the stairs. By the time she reached the Ancient Runes classroom, the late bell was trailing her, ringing mere seconds after she stepped into the small room. Professor Babbling, a middle-aged woman with long blond hair tied up into a bun, stood at the front of the room and set her eyes upon Hermione when she entered. 

"Miss Granger, it would do you good to watch your time between classes," she said kindly. "Now, please take a seat, class has begun."

Nodding, Hermione apologized, redness creeping up her cheeks. Taking a deep, calming breath, she quickly scanned the classroom and sighed when the only open desk was next to Draco Malfoy. She took her seat next to him, ignoring the nasty looks he gave her, and took out her things, her eyes glued to the teacher as she took attendance.

When all students were accounted for, Professor Babbling grabbed a stack of copied parchments from the front desk. Starting at the row of desks furthest from Hermione, she counted them out, one for each student in the row.

"This is to be done in class," she said, giving a stack of five parchments to the person at the start of the row. "You may use your book and the person sitting next to you if you wish." The professor smiled, the students reacting pleasantly.

Receiving a stack of parchments from the professor, Hermione took one, passing the rest behind her, and began eagerly working.

Draco stared at his parchment and bit his lip, reading the first question.

_1. What three-digit number do the runes below represent? Explain your answer._

Below the question, three tiles were drawn: a unicorn, a demiguise, and another unicorn. Studying the runes, he dipped his quill into his pot of ink and began writing.

_The number would be 101. The unicorn, having only one horn, represents the number one, accounting for the first and last rune. The demiguise in the middle stands for the number zero for its ability to become invisible._

Diligently, Draco worked through the problems written out on the parchment. Reaching the end of the problems, he glanced up at the clock, noting ten minutes remaining, and read the last problem.

_10. If one wanted to write the number 455, what runes would he/she use? Explain your reasoning._

Staring at the question for a moment, Draco bent over and stuck his hand into his bag sitting on the floor next to him, searching for his textbook. When his hand didn't brush against the thin, smooth cover of _Ancient Runes Made Easy_, he blew a sharp puff of air out of his mouth, rustling the hair hanging in his eyes. Returning to his proper position in the chair, he glared at his parchment as if it were to blame for his lack of a textbook.

Beside him, Hermione quietly worked on an extra credit assignment, having finished her in-class assignment five minutes ago. Hearing Draco's frustrated sigh, she glanced at him, seeing no textbook on his desk and the last problem on the parchment blank.

"If you want, you can use my book," she said, offering the book to him. "I'm finished."

He scowled at the book, his lip riding up in apparent disgust.

"Fine," she sighed, retracting the offer but paused when Draco thrust his pale hand out, his long fingers asking for the book.

She gave him the book, and Draco returned to his work.

* * *

That night, Hermione sat in the Common Room, going over the Potions essay she had written, checking it for grammar, punctuation, and proper spelling. Confident that everything was in order with her essay, she carefully rolled up the three-foot long length of parchment and tucked it into her bag, ready to be turned in tomorrow afternoon. That said and done, she set about beginning her Ancient Runes essay. 

Rooting around in her bag, she searched for her textbook, and frowned when she didn't find it.

"Harry? Ron? Did either of you take my Ancient Runes text?" she asked of the two boys sitting by the fire playing Wizard Chess.

When both shook their heads, Hermione sat back, tapping her chin, and tried to think where she last had her book.

"Oh no!" She shot up out of her chair, the chair clattering noisily to the ground behind her. Draco still had her book.

"Mione, you ok?" Harry looked up from the chess board as Ron's bishop beheaded his pawn.

"What? Oh, yes," she said, righting the chair she had knocked over and stuffing her things into her bag.

"Where you going?" Ron asked as she slung her bag over her shoulder and began heading for the portrait.

"The library," she said. "I forgot something."

He nodded and returned his attention to the game as Hermione slipped out of the Common Room, holding the portrait open for a first year before stepping out. Once in the vacant hallway, she paused, shifting from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do. She couldn't very well search out the Slytherin Common Room. For one, only Slytherins knew its location; and two, entering their Common Room would be like walking into the enemy's hideout. Exhaling sharply, she pursed her lips, thinking.

Then, her eyes lighting up, she got an idea and headed down the corridor, the west tower her destination.

The Owlery, empty of any students, echoed softly with the Owls' hoots and rustling of wings. Wrinkling her nose at the acrid scent of owl droppings, Hermione penned a quick note on a spare piece of parchment.

_You have my Ancient Runes text. I'd like it back, please._

_-HG_

Tying the note to the leg of one of the school owls, Hermione told it who to give the note to, and watched as the bird launched off of its perch, swooping out of the Owlery.

* * *

The next morning, as Hermione dug hungrily into a bowl of oatmeal topped with raisins, the owls made their appearance, soaring around the Great Hall. Setting her spoon down, she looked up expectantly as a brown and white speckled school owl glided effortlessly towards her. Seeing her book clutched in its claws, she smiled, and reached out to take it from his grip. Expecting the owl to arc back up to the rafters and exit the Great Hall, Hermione gasped as the owl landed beside her bowl of oatmeal, dipping his beak into her glass of pumpkin juice, and gave her a soft hoot. Cocking her head to the side and staring curiously at the owl, Hermione opened her book, and paused, her mouth formed into a small circle, as a folded parchment drifted to the table. Grabbing it quickly, she tucked it into her hand. 

"Who gave you the book, Hermione?" Ron asked, leaning over across Harry.

"Oh…um, just somebody who borrowed it yesterday," she said, opening the parchment in her lap.

_Mudblood,_

_Here's your filthy book back._

_-DM_

Rolling her eyes, Hermione tore off a section of the parchment and scribbled a reply. Affixing the reply to the owl's foot, he took off through the Great Hall, blending with the other owls still flying about.

Circling the area where Draco sat, the owl dropped the parchment before the blond boy, the folded note landing in the butter dish. Sneering, Draco picked up the reply, holding it carefully between his index finger and thumb as if it carried a disease, and read it, frowning.

_Thank you._

_-HG_


	2. Novus Facina

**Author's Note – **Welcome back! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and remember to review when you're finished.

**Another Note – **This is going to be a slow fanfic, meaning Hermione and Draco won't just jump into liking or loving each other. The romance bit of it probably won't happen for a while. But don't worry, there's a lot of juicy and angst-ridden things that have to happen first. The title, "Novus Facina" loosely means Unusual Actions in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **If I were JKR, I wouldn't be living at home with my parents. I'd have a big house of my own, and more than a few hundred dollars to my name. Therefore, we can conclude that I'm not JKR, just one of her fans wanting to borrow her characters for a bit of fun.

**Enjoy!

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**

**Chapter Two**

"Novus Facina"

* * *

Saturday afternoon, Hermione sat at her usual table in the back corner of the library. Shelves of books surrounded her, the gap between two towering shelves revealing Madam Pince's vulture-like profile entering data into one of her numerous books stacked on the front desk. On Hermione's table, numerous books surrounded her, _Muggles and Their Superstitions_, by Cornelia C. Cat, opened to the index. She glanced at the assignment description for her Ancient Rune's essay.

_In an essay approximately two feet long, describe the runes needed to represent the number 666. Then, explain the significance of the number in the Muggle world, and how one might use those runes. Site at least two sources you used at the end of your essay in SWF (Standard Wizarding Format)._

Returning to the book's index, her finger ran down the dusty, yellowed parchment until it came to stop on: _Numbers and Their Meanings, chapter 39_. Flipping through the pages of the book, Hermione found the chapter she wanted and began reading.

The library hummed with silence, interrupted only by the occasional page turn from the Ravenclaw sixth year sitting clear across the library. Sighing with contentment, Hermione let the scent of aged parchment surrounding her lull her into a relaxed state. She rested her chin in her palm and let her eyes roam over the pages.

Up at the front of the library, the doors creaked open. Looking up, Hermione watched as Draco entered, closing the doors behind him. Madam Pince's gaze followed him as he crossed the center of the library diagonally, her beady eyes scrutinizing his every move. He disappeared behind a shelf of books, one Hermione recognized as being the Muggle Studies section. Moments later, he reemerged, and her eyes followed as he sauntered up to the front desk. She frowned as a second later the librarian leaned around Draco, pointing in her direction. Draco turned, looked at Hermione, and sneered. His robes billowing behind him, he strode across the library and came to stop beside her table.

"The old bat says you have _Muggles and Their Superstitions_," he said, looking at her as if she were a jarred specimen in Professor Snape's office.

Sighing through her nose, Hermione turned the page. "I'm using it," she said levelly.

"Well, I need it," he demanded, holding his hand out, expecting her to simply hand over the book.

"And I told you," she said, staring at him evenly, "I'm using it. Either you can wait until I'm finished, or we can share it." She gestured to the open chair across from her.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he shouted, earning a sharp look from Madam Pince, which he ignored. "You're a muggleborn. You know all this."

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What? No mudblood comment?"

Draco growled before turning and stalking away, his fists clenched at his sides. Hermione watched him stomp off and rolled her eyes, returning to her essay.

The chair across from her was violently wrenched out a second later and Draco flopped down, his hair a messy disarray. Glancing up from writing, Hermione set her quill down and waited for the fuming boy to speak. When he finally did, the words were forced out, as if they hurt.

"Fine, we'll share your bloody book."

Satisfied, she smiled, turning the book sideways. Draco blew a strand of pale blond hair out of his eyes and grabbed a roll of parchment and his quill. Dragging the book a few centimeters closer to him, he craned his neck awkwardly and scanned the information. Hermione returned to her essay, her quill scratching quietly across the parchment. As she worked, her attention wavered uncharacteristically from her assignment, finding her gaze drifting to the person sitting across from her. He sat ramrod straight, his quill gliding across the parchment, leaving in its wake lines of inked words.

Something seemed off about him, for that she was sure. Yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It certainly seemed strange for him to willingly sit across from her and share her book. The Draco Malfoy she knew wouldn't even dare. And the muggleborn comment. He had always called her a mudblood. Why go for decency when it had never mattered to him before?

"What?" The snapped remark startled her, and she jumped in her chair, realizing she had been staring at him and shook herself of her mental wanderings. Draco glared at her, his eyes a cold wall, and his mouth open slightly, his upper lip curling the tiniest bit.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Nothing."

"Whatever," Draco said, dismissing her with ease and practice.

They both returned to their work, Hermione paying mind to not let her thoughts wander again. The next hour passed in relative silence with thankfully no interruptions. Placing her quill down, Hermione stretched her arms above her head, arching her back until the individual vertebrae popped pleasantly. The large clock above the front desk ticked quietly, showing an hour before dinner was set to begin. Hermione toyed with the edge of her two and a half foot essay, rereading it.

"What does this mean?"

She glanced up, seeing Draco pointing to something on their assignment sheet.

Brushing a lock of hair out of her face, she read what his finger pointed to. "Standard Wizarding Format is a way to site your sources," she said, looking up at him.

"Oh." He paused. "How do I do that?"

Rifling through the stack of books on her left, she handed him a thin, yellow book titled, _A Guide to Wizard Writing_, by Peter E. Norwall. "There's an explanation on page ten."

Nodding, he flipped through the book and Hermione returned to finishing her essay. Pleased with her work, Hermione rolled the length of parchment up and stowed it away in her bag along with her quill. Standing, she regarded Draco briefly, his head bent over his parchment.

"Make sure to put the books back when you're finished," she said, walking away, her bag thrown over her left shoulder.

* * *

The sun shone brightly, making the rolling, green lawns glow, as the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered at Hagrid's hut for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Hermione stood between Ron and Harry, her white dress shirt's sleeves rolled up to her elbows, having discarded her robe earlier.

"I still don't see why we have to have this class with the Slytherins," Ron said, his arms crossed over his chest, pouting. "We had it with them last year."

"We don't have any control over our schedules, Ronald," Hermione said, glancing at the red haired boy beside her.

Huffing, he glowered at the Slytherins standing on the other end of the penned in yard beside the hut. "Bloody gits better not start any trouble."

"Language," she scolded as Hagrid emerged through the large front door, and Hermione shifted her attention to the half-giant carrying a wooden crate.

"Good mornin' class," he said, gently setting the crate on the ground, it emitting soft squeaking noises. "Yer in fo' a treat today." He grinned wide, his bushy beard rustling.

The class groaned, the Slytherins rolling their eyes and making rude gestures behind Hagrid's back. Ron growled and Harry rested a hand on his shoulder. "Calm it, mate."

"Well, come," Hagrid said, waving his massive arms around, urging the students to approach the crate. "Gather 'round, gather 'round."

Hesitantly, the class took a few steps forward, some of the braver students leaning over to peek into the crate. A dozen or so squat animals covered in short, fluffy, brown fur wiggled together, their heads indistinguishable from their rears.

"Tha's right. No need ta be frigh'ened of 'em."

Draco snorted, rolled his eyes, and leaned over, whispering something to the black-haired girl next to him. Ron tensed and muttered something under his breath. Glancing at him, Hermione grabbed his hand, wanting to calm him down.

"Now, does anyone know wha' these are?"

Hermione raised her hand. "Those are Bandylegged Hummerlings," she said.

Hagrid grinned, his beefy chest swelling with pride. "Tha's right," he said. "Five points ter Gryffindor."

Hermione beamed.

"Bandylegged Hummerlings?" Draco sneered, the girl standing next to him glowered darkly at Hagrid. "We're studying vermin?"

"Mr. Malfoy!" Hagrid roared, turning to face the boy. "If yeh 'ave a problem with wha' I'm teachin', then yeh take it up with the Headmaster."

Draco crossed his arms across his chest, looking up at Hagrid, one pale eyebrow raised snootily. "And what if my problem is with the half-blood teaching me?" he asked, saying 'half-blood' as if it were poison.

Hagrid paused, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. And it was at this moment that Hermione and Harry's hold on Ron broke, the red head barreling across the penned in yard, fury boiling beneath his skin.

"You take that back Malfoy," he shouted, shoving the blond boy in the chest.

Hermione wedged herself between Draco and Ron just as Draco reached for his wand stowed in his sleeve. "Ron, back off," she demanded, pushing him back with her hand.

"Hermione! You heard what the bloody berk said," he said, snarling at Draco, who was being held back by Hagrid.

"I did," she said. "But fighting won't get you anywhere except detention or expelled."

"Well said 'ermione," Hagrid said, letting go of a now calmer Draco. "And that'll be twenty points from Slytherin and a detention tonigh' for yeh, Mr. Malfoy."

Glaring at the half-giant, Draco returned to where he had stood next to the black haired girl. Class back in order, Hagrid continued on with his lesson.

"As Miss Granger told us, these are Bandylegged Hummerlings" he said, bending down and picking up one of the creatures. It twisted and wriggled in his massive hand, all the while squealing. "Now, can any of yeh tell me wha' they eat?"

Hermione raised her hand again. "Grubs?"

Hagrid nodded. "Tha's right. Another five points ter Gryffindor," he said. "Now, where did I put those?" He frowned, riffling through his multitude of pockets. "Ah! 'Ere they are," he said, a large tub held in his hand.

Not too soon after, the students were divided up into groups and set to the task of feeding the squirming, brown creatures.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione received a letter delivered by one of the school owls.

_Meet me in the library after your last class today._

_-DM_

Shaking her head, she scribbled a reply.

_No._

_-HG_

Tying the parchment to the owl's leg, she sent him off, and returned to her buttered toast.

"Who was that from, Mione?" Harry asked, staring at her over his goblet of pumpkin juice.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, no one important."

He raised one eyebrow in question and Hermione countered with a big grin. Rolling his eyes humorously, Harry shook his head and laughed.

"Hermione?" Ron turned in his seat. "Did you finish your History of Magic homework?"

"Of course," she said, munching on her toast.

"Can I look at it?"

"No."

"Why?" he whined, his shoulders sagging.

She regarded him harshly. "Because you need to learn to do your homework the night before, _not_ at the breakfast table," she chastised, gesturing to the scroll of parchment in front of Ron.

"But-"

"No, Ron," she said, and then gathered up her things and stood from the table as the bell rang. "Plus, breakfast is over. You wouldn't have had time anyways."

* * *

At lunch, she received another folded letter delivered by another school owl.

_Why not?_

_-DM_

And as with the previous note, she replied.

_What makes you think I'd even say yes?_

_-HG_

* * *

"That bloody git gave me detention!" Ron seethed after Potions as he, Hermione, and Harry walked through the dungeons.

"Ronald! That's a teacher you're talking about," Hermione said, sending him a cutting glare.

He clenched his fists at his sides. "Did he see me throw another vial of pixie dust into Malfoy's cauldron? No! Because I didn't," he said, nearly shouting. "Malfoy set me up."

"We know that, mate," Harry said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "We just need to deal with the greasy git through next year, and then we can drop Potions."

Ron sighed, all his tension escaping his body. "I swear," he mumbled, "if murder weren't illegal, I'd know-"

"Ron-" Hermione stumbled forward, cutting off the rest of her sentence, as somebody crashed into her from behind. She fell to the ground with a muffled _oomph_, whoever ran into her falling on top, pinning her to the ground.

"Bloody hell, Granger." Draco glared at her stonily, blond hair hanging down, nearly brushing her face. "You clumsy cow," he said.

Hermione sighed, dismissing the insult. "Malfoy, get off me," she said, trying to use her arms as leverage.

He leered down at her and then glanced up, only to meet Harry's wand. "Get off her, Malfoy," he said, holding Ron back with one arm.

His lip curling into a nasty look, he got to his feet, but not before cramming something into Hermione's hand. Brushing his robes off, he turned and walked away, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle, a prominent strut in his step.

Harry watched him walk away for a minute before glancing down at Hermione. "You ok, Mione?" he asked, offering her a hand up.

She took it and Harry hauled her up. "I'm fine," she said.

"I'm gonna kill him. I swear, I'm gonna kill him," Ron said, his eyes shooting fire in the direction in which Draco parted. His hands clenched involuntarily and a red shade of fury crept up his neck.

"Ron," Hermione said, resting a hand on his arm. "I'm fine."

Harry slung an arm over his shoulders. "She's alright, mate. He's just trying to egg you on. Now," he said, "we've got a free period before dinner. I think a round or two of chess is in order."

Sighing, Ron hung his head. "I guess you're right," he said. "But, I swear, if he tries something like that again, I'm gonna tear him to shreds."

"I've no doubt in that," Harry said.

As they walked away, Hermione kept her hand tightly around the crumpled parchment Draco had forced into her grip.

* * *

Once safely in the confines of her room, Hermione closed and locked the door with a quick charm. Smoothing out the parchment, she read his note.

_You'll come because I've asked you to._

_-DM_

Crumpling the paper in disgust, she tossed it into the small fireplace in her dormitory, angry at his arrogance. Flopping down on her bed, she stared blankly at the ceiling and blew a lock of curly hair out of her eyes. Watching it forced up into the air, Hermione blew on it again as it drifted back down. Why was he so insistent on seeing her? What did she have that he wanted?

Rolling over onto her side, she let the flickering light from the fire catch her gaze. The parchment sat on the edge of the fire, it edges scorched and curled. Sighing, Hermione sat up, wishing she knew why she was so curious about what Draco wanted.

Crookshanks jumped up onto the bed and nuzzled his head into Hermione's side. Picking him up, she buried her face in his fur.

"What does he want, Crookshanks?" she mumbled.

He meowed, his squashed face staring knowingly at Hermione.

"Should I go meet him?" she asked.

Jumping down to the floor, her cat approached the door, turned around and looked at Hermione expectantly.

"Ugh," she uttered, flopping back down. "I can't. Harry and Ron would kill me. I'd be consorting with the enemy."

Crookshanks responded by yowling low in his throat, pacing the door, his tail flicking to and fro.

Hermione sighed, turning onto her side again, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her comforter. Jumping back onto her bed, Crookshanks daintily stepped over her legs and plopped down beside her, his warm body snug against her stomach. Purring, he began cleaning his pawns. Absentmindedly, Hermione ran her fingers through his fur, thoughts running through her head, her eyes once again lost in the fire's flames.


	3. Novo Ne Egeo Causa

**Author's Note – **I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave a review when you're finished. I enjoy hearing feedback from my readers.

**Another Note** – The title, "Novo Ne Egeo Causa," means, "Change Not Be Without Reason," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **If I were JKR, I'd have books published. Since I don't have anything published (yet…) we can safely say that I'm not JKR and I don't own anything associated with Harry Potter.

**Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Three**

"Novo Ne Egeo Causa"

* * *

A week had passed since Hermione's sudden run-ins with Draco Malfoy. He hadn't spoken to her since, in person or through owl. She sighed with relief and happily went about her life and schoolwork. However, a small part of her kept drifting subconsciously towards him in thought, the questions she had earlier having gone unanswered.

It was those questions that she pondered over as she sat beside the calm, black waters of the lake. Off in the distance, over the lake's smooth surface, the squid lazily swam about, his long tentacles surfacing with his movements. Ripping the season's last dandelions from the earth, she twisted them until their fragile stems broke. She let them fall to the ground, her arms resting upon her bent legs and her head tilted slightly in thought.

Behind her, someone approached, their footsteps sounding softly on the grass. They came to stop beside Hermione.

Looking up, Hermione frowned. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

Draco glanced down at her. "What? I can't look out over the lake?" he asked, annoyance tainting his tone.

"Let me rephrase my question," she said, her statement bordering on unkindness. "Why did you choose this spot," she said, gesturing to her left where he stood, "when you have a whole lake to choose from?" She waved her arm in a flowing arc.

Bending down, Draco sat down beside Hermione. "I like this spot."

"Well, choose a different spot," she said, staring out over the lake.

"No."

Whipping her head around, Hermione sent him a fiery glare. Draco met her look with relative indifference and a raised eyebrow before turning away, resting his arms on his raised knees. Turning away from him slowly, she fumed in silence. He, like Hermione, stared off across the lake, not quite seeing the gentle ripples in the water or the small flock of birds that had just landed on the lake's surface. Instead, he let his mind drift.

Hermione mirrored his actions. The long strands of hair framing her face, freed from the clip holding her hair back, blowing in the wind. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the sweetness of the fresh air mixed delicately with the smoky scent from Hagrid's hut, not too far away. Hermione felt content, and oddly enough in the presence of Draco Malfoy. Glancing at him, she watched as he did absolutely nothing, the normally frigid exterior covering his eyes, absent.

"Granger?" he asked a moment later.

"What?" she answered.

He hesitated. "Do you ever think about the future?"

"Of course," she said, her delicate eyebrows creasing, the question seeming odd coming from him. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "I've been thinking about it lately." She looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. Draco met her gaze for a split second and then turned away. "Sometimes…sometimes I…I wonder…" he trailed off, sighing, the sound coming off slightly aristocratic.

"What?" she asked softly, her eyes still trained on his lithe form.

"I just…" He paused and then shook his head. "Nevermind."

"No, what were you going to say?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, getting to his feet. Wiping off the seat of his pants, he turned, ready to walk back to the castle. "Forget I said anything, Granger."

Hermione rolled over onto her knees, getting to her feet a moment later. "No, wait," she said, following him.

Spinning around, Draco sent her a scathing look. "I said forget it, Granger," he said. "Plus, Potty and Weasel are coming this way. You wouldn't want them to see you hanging around with the likes of me, would you?" he said rather snottily. Pausing for a dramatic sneer, he then turned and stalked off.

Huffing, Hermione crossed her arms, turning to see Harry and Ron leaving Hagrid's hut. She shook her head and began walking towards her two best friends.

* * *

Another week passed without any word from Draco. He faded back into his typical existence as the Slytherin Prince, strutting around Hogwarts, picking fights, and snarling insulting threats at the lower years. Everything seemed in order, to the untrained eye. However, Hermione couldn't help to notice the subtle oddities, no matter how hard she tried to ignore him.

He rarely hung around with Crabbe and Goyle anymore, choosing instead to be seen with a short girl with long, black hair cascading down her back. The way he never uttered _mudblood_, at least where she could hear, sounded like a siren in her brain. And every so often, she would meet his eyes, whether in the Great Hall at dinner or in passing on their way to class. In those brief seconds, his eyes lacked the carefully calculated coldness she had become accustomed to. And in the next moment, he'd look away, his normal icy guard standing alert once again in his cool, gray eyes.

The rest of the school went about their business as usual, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Hermione wished she could join them in their indifference. She wished she could care less about Draco Malfoy, but something in her heart just wouldn't let the matter rest.

She found herself in the library again, as usual, Sunday morning. Outside, the storm to end all storms raged. Wind wailed and threw buckets of rain at the windows, causing the glass to rattle. Thunder rolled over the sky, flashes of lightening following at even intervals. Inside, however, proved to be a much calmer atmosphere. With the weather not permitting going outside, many students chose to hole themselves up in the library. Groups of students, and the occasional single student, dotted the tables in the center of the library. Some furiously scribbled away while others leisurely flipped through books while chatting with the person beside them. Hermione belonged to the group of solitary studiers, having known that she worked best alone, and diligently worked on her Potions essay.

At the front of the library, Draco entered, Hermione sensing his entrance before sighting him. Sighing, she returned to her essay, flipping through a book on rare Potions ingredients, looking for the section on dragon scales.

"Psst."

Looking up, Hermione frowned not sure whether she had heard the sound or not. Pausing for a minute, her ears perked, she listened. When only the usual sounds of the library met her ears, she returned to her homework.

"Psst."

Hermione's head shot up again, her eyes darting around, looking for the source of the noise.

"Granger," someone whispered. "Over here."

Draco stood behind the stack of books on her right, beckoning to her with his outstretched finger. Glancing at the other students in the library, none noticing Draco's presence, she braced her hands on the table and leaned over to the right.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"Come here," he said quietly.

"Why?"

Draco sighed. "Just come over here."

"What if I don't want to?"

He passed her an annoyed glare. "Granger," he said, his tone leaning towards threatening.

"Fine," she said, tucking her essay into her book to save her place. Leaving her table, she ducked behind the stack of books, her arms crossed over her chest. "Ok, I'm here," she said. "Now, what do you want?"

Draco shifted his weight to his other foot and scratched the back of his head. "Um…"

"Come on, I don't have all day," she said, waving her hand in circles, gesturing for him to hurry up.

"What are you doing right now?" he asked.

"Merlin," she whispered, looking at the ceiling in exasperation. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I don't know," he said, crossing his arms. "You could be doing anything right now."

Shaking her head, Hermione turned. "I don't have time for these little games you're playing," she said.

"Granger," Draco said, reaching out to grab her arm. "Wait."

Hermione stiffened. "What?"

"Can I study with you?"

"No!" she said, wrenching her arm from his grip.

Glowering at her, Draco sneered. "Fine," he bit out, turning on his heel and leaving, his robe flaring violently in his wake.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione scanned over a letter she had written to her mother the night before.

_Dear Mum,_

_I have a question. Are people capable of changing? I know most are, but you see, I've gotten myself into a rather odd situation. Do you remember my first year when I owled home after Draco Malfoy first called me a mudblood? And then I'm sure you remember all the letters that followed over the years detailing what a vile and cruel boy he was. He's changed; or rather he's changed towards me. We keep running into each other, and I think he's been doing it on purpose, like he's searching me out. I haven't figured out exactly what he wants yet, but I'm trying. I'm just confused because he's the last person I'd imagine who would do something like this. What should I do?_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Glancing down the table, she spotted Hedwig nibbling at Harry's eggs.

"Harry?"

He turned. "Yeah, Mione?"

"Do you think I could borrow Hedwig?" she asked. "I want to owl my mum."

"Sure," he said, sending his owl to Hermione.

Smiling her thanks to her friend, Hermione tied her letter to Hedwig's leg and sent her off.

* * *

At dinner, Hedwig returned, swooping down in a flurry of white feathers, nearly landing in Hermione's mashed potatoes. Retrieving her reply, Hermione sent Hedwig back to Harry with a friendly pat on the head and opened her letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Yes, I believe anybody can change, but only under the right conditions. I stress this last part. Nobody changes without a reason. That said, if Draco has changed like you said he has, then there must be a reason why he's changed. And if everything you've told me about him over the years has been true, then the reason most likely isn't pleasant. He might be looking for a friend, as hard as that may be for you to believe. As to what I think you should do, I think you should do what your heart tells you to do. You are a compassionate and loving young woman, and I believe that you will do what is right. However, I will ask you, as your mum, to tread carefully. Change isn't always permanent._

_Study hard my love,_

_Mum_

Hermione sighed, folding the letter once and then twice, tucking it into her bag.

"What'd your mum have to say?" Harry asked.

Hermione glanced at him. "She just offered me a bit of advice," she said.

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Anything I can help with?"

"Nah, I've got it under control," she said, smiling before returning to her dinner, Harry following suit.

Nibbling on an ear of corn, Hermione looked out across the Great Hall, over the dozens and dozens of students eating and chatting merrily. Clear across the hall, Draco sat at the Slytherin table, flanked by the black haired girl she always saw him with and a seedy looking boy with greasy, brown hair. He must have felt her eyes on him, for a moment later, Draco glanced up, his eyes partially obscured by his blond bangs. She met his eyes for a brief second, her head tilted to the side, wondering what reason, if any, he had for his sudden shift in behavior.

* * *

Tuesday mornings for most of the fourth year Gryffindors had a free period between History of Magic and lunch. Typically, Hermione used this time to work on homework. However, this particular Tuesday, she found all her homework completed for that week and halfway into the next. Biting her lip, she stared at her day planner and then shrugged, figuring her already wandering mind couldn't tolerate a period of essay writing. Closing the leather bound book, she slipped it into her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder, and turned, leaving the Great Hall.

The lake had always been her place to think, and today she sought out its calming effects, needing to run a few things through her mind. The weather, typical to early October, was cool overshadowed by the occasional pool of warmth created by the sun, partially hidden by the drifting clusters of clouds. Hermione walked down to the lake and through the smattering of trees bordering the water.

Halfway there, she halted in her steps as she spotted a lone figure down near the lake's edge. Hesitant, she slowly continued her trek, the figure revealing himself to be Draco as she neared and his head of blond hair came into sight. He sat, his legs drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his gaze steadily drawn to the lake, as if he was in a trance. He gave no indication that he knew of her presence, although she was sure he heard her approach. Cautiously, Hermione moved towards him, sitting down beside him.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," he replied absentmindedly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, glancing at him, noticing the guarded look in his eyes.

"Nothing."

Hermione pressed her lips together, fiddling with the hair tie around her wrist. "Is everything ok?" she asked, unsure whether she asked the right question.

"Yes," Draco answered monotonously.

Sensing a lie, a carefully guarded lie, she turned towards him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Hermione sighed, her fingers plucking at her hair tie. This drastic shift of mood in him pulled at her heartstrings, much to her chagrin. She knew her mother was correct in saying change always had a reason. However, Hermione still wasn't ready to accept the change, nor was she comfortable with it. Somewhere in her mind he was still Draco Malfoy, her mortal enemy.

She sat beside him, saying not another word, until the bell up at the castle indicated the start of lunch. When the bell rang, Draco quietly got to his feet and walked away, and Hermione followed a minute later.


	4. Dulcis Itaque Sermo

**Author's Note – **I actually don't have much to say except: Read, Review, and Enjoy!

**Another Note – **I do not claim ownership of Skittles. The title, "Dulcis Itaque Sermo" loosely means "Sweets and Conversations" in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Harry Potter nor do I own the character Draco Malfoy. He simply insists that he owns himself.

**Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Four**

"Dulcis Itaque Sermo"

* * *

The second week of October brought the first cold front of the season. Chilling drafts lurked in dark corners of the castle, and any student feeling the need for fresh air would need to bundle up before venturing outside. The first Hogsmeade weekend dawned cool and cloudy as students emerged from their beds. When students finally convened in the courtyard, a fine mist had settled over the lawns. It collected in Hermione's hair as she waited alongside Harry and Ron, a heavy cloak keeping the wind at bay.

"I think we should go to Zonko's first," Ron said, hopping up and down on his feet to keep warm.

Harry nodded, hugging himself. "I heard they got a new kind of fake wand," he said. "It turns into jelly when you try and use it."

"You know what kind?" Ron asked.

Harry tilted his head to the side. "I think the ad said grape."

"Fantastic," he said, grinning. "I think I ought to buy one or two."

"Anywhere you need to go Mione?" Harry turned to look at Hermione.

"Um," she said, tapping her chin. "Honeydukes. I'm out of Chocolate Frogs."

Harry nodded. "I need to go there too. You know, I think somebody nicked my Nicholas Flamel card," he said. "I can't find it anywhere."

"It's probably under your bed," she said.

"No." He frowned. "I looked there. Oh well," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll just have to buy some more."

Hermione nodded. "I also want to go to Scrivenshaft's. They're having a sale on red quills."

"Why would you want to go there?" Ron asked, slightly appalled.

Sighing, Hermione regarded Ron tersely. "I happen to enjoy that store."

He shrugged. "Whatever charms your wand."

"I can go there when you two go to Zonko's"

Professor McGonagall appeared, a long list in her hand. "All right students, when I call your name, raise your hand, and I'll check you off. Once everybody is accounted for, then we can leave."

* * *

Students crowded Honeydukes from wall to wall, some milling around while others rummaged in bins. A sugary sweetness filled the air, and the shelves and bins were packed with colorful boxes of sweets. Candy nearly as far as the eye could see, any student's heaven. Hermione stood in the middle of aisle two, a basket thrown over her arm as she surveyed the Chocolate Frogs before her. Honeydukes' manufacturing and research department had issued a new variety of Chocolate Frog: dark chocolate. The idea tantalized the center of her brain devoted to chocolate, and now she had to choose between her much loved original Chocolate Frog or the new variety. Hermione had always been one to try new things; however, when it came to her Chocolate Frogs, she was very particular about what she wanted. Sighing, she pressed her lips together and transferred her weight to her other foot, scratching her chin.

"Personally, I'd go for the new dark chocolate."

Slightly startled, Hermione looked up into the silvery-gray eyes of Draco.

"Pardon?" she asked, glancing behind her.

"What?" he asked, seeing where her eyes roamed. "Scared your little Potty or Weasel will see you fraternizing with me?"

"What? No…" A blush crept up her cheeks, and she turned away.

"Whatever, Granger," he said, turning to stare at the boxes upon boxes of Chocolate Frogs.

"You know," she started to say, "they do have names."

"I know," he said, carefully looking at the Chocolate Frog in his hand.

"Then why don't you use them?" Reaching up, she grabbed a small stack of Dark Chocolate Frogs. "Do you really think I should go with the dark chocolate?"

"I prefer Potty and Weasel," he said. "And I do think you should go with the dark chocolate."

"I'd prefer if you called them Harry and Ron, or at least Potter and Weasley," she said. "But what if I don't like the dark chocolate kind?"

"I don't think your preferences matter considering it's my speech we're talking about." He raised one eyebrow and gave her a patronizing look. "And if you're scared you won't like the dark chocolate variety, then get half and half," he said, dropping a handful of Chocolate Frogs into her basket and walking off.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head and fingered through the Chocolate Frogs already in her basket. When a small sheet of folded parchment turned up between two boxes of Dark Chocolate Frogs, she frowned and retrieved the note. Unfolding it, she smoothed out the wrinkled edges and read the tiny words scrawled on the sheet.

_Meet me behind Madam Puddifoot's at 1pm._

_-DM_

Hermione pressed her lips together and slipped the note into her cloak's pocket. Dumping a few more handfuls of Chocolate Frogs into her basket, she weaved her way to the front counter, paid for her sweets, and headed onto Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

* * *

The land behind Madam Puddifoot's, dotted with various trees and bushes, remained vacant of any buildings as it sloped gently downhill. Hermione and Draco sat side by side on a large fallen log among a small grouping of bushes. The sounds of merry students enjoying an outing to Hogsmeade could faintly be heard, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea seemed to hang in the area surrounding Madam Puddifoot's.

"Why do you hang around with Potty and Weasel?" Draco asked, picking up random stones and throwing them.

Hermione frowned at him. "That should be obvious," she said. "They're my friends."

"But they're so annoying," he whined, chucking another stone.

"You barely know them," she said. "You shouldn't make conclusions like that.'

He stared at her. "I know them well enough."

Hermione glanced at him witheringly. "You don't know either of them at all."

Draco matched her expression. "I know them well enough to know that they're annoying.

"And you only think they are annoying because you want to think they're annoying," she said.

Sitting up straighter, Draco glared at Hermione in haughty annoyance. "And who are you to say what I want to think?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It's rather obvious."

"It is not!"

"I hope you realize that when you deny something's obviousness you also admit its existence," she said, smirking.

"And how do you figure that?"

"How can you say something isn't obvious without knowing that that something exists in the first place?" she asked condescendingly.

Draco stared blankly at Hermione for a minute and then turned away. "Whatever, Granger."

Still smirking, now more to herself than at Draco, Hermione rummaged around in her Honeyduke's bag. Extracting a dark purple box containing a Dark Chocolate Frog, Hermione ripped through the cardboard and picked up the frog, setting it in the palm of her hand. The magic contained within the chocolate hummed pleasantly against her skin. She studied it, her head tilted to the right, trying to decide whether she liked the appearance of this new frog or the old frogs.

"You're supposed to eat it, Granger," Draco drawled, and Hermione looked up at him.

However, the moment she took her eyes off the richly dark chocolate brown frog, it decided to leap out of her hand and attach itself to Draco's face, directly over his right temple. Draco froze, his eyes sliding to their corners, glaring at the frog. Stifling a smile with one hand, she reached out just as the frog readied itself for another jump, and gently plucked the frog from his face, cramming it into her mouth a second later.

"I'm glad you found that funny, Granger," he said when barely contained giggles kept coming from Hermione.

Hermione turned towards him. "I'm sorry," she said, still smiling. "You have to admit, it was funny."

He looked at her dryly, his lips pressed together, and fine strands of blond hair blowing in the wind. "Quite funny."

Sighing, she turned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her palms. Draco glanced at her for a moment and shrugged, before returning to tossing rocks.

"So, why do you really hang around with Potty and Weasel?" he asked again after several moments of silence.

Hermione tilted her head to look at him. "I already told you," she said. "They're my friends. You've got to understand that much."

"Why them?"

"Why not?"

"Don't answer my question with a question," he said. "It's annoying."

Hermione sighed. "They are my friends because that's just who they are," she said. "You've got friends of your own, you must understand that."

Laughing humorlessly, Draco stared at the sky. "Right, friends of my own. If that's what you want to call them." Setting his lips in a thin line, he regarded Hermione with an expression less than amused. "You don't make friends in Slytherin," he said. "You make allies."

"But…but what about those two boys who used to follow you around?" she asked.

"Crabbe and Goyle?"

Hermione nodded.

"I think the operative phrase you used was _used to follow me around_," he said.

"Oh," she said. "But…"

"But what, Granger?"

"But what about that girl I've seen you around with?" she asked, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her face. "The one with black hair."

"Blaise?" he asked, fiddling with a few stones in his hands.

"That's her name?"

Draco nodded.

"Well," Hermione said. "Wouldn't she be your friend?"

"More of an ally."

"What's the difference?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion.

Standing up, Draco brushed off the seat of his pants, and regarded Hermione with a cold look. "I don't know, Granger," he said, sneering at her. "Why don't you look it up in a book?"

Turning on his heel, Draco marched up the slope and out of sight, leaving Hermione confused and a bit perplexed.

* * *

The next evening, Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room performing final revisions on two essays due Monday morning. Biting her bottom lip, she scratched out _mixed in_ and replaced it with _integrated_ before moving onto the rest of her essay, adding in a comma here and deleting a comma there. Reaching the end of her current paragraph, she set her quill down and rubbed her eyes.

"You all right, Mione?" Harry asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.

Looking up at her friend, she gave a half-shrug. "I guess."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because it looks like something's bothering you."

Sighing, she stared unseeingly at her essay. "I just…" She paused and rubbed the side of her head where a minor headache had begun. "I'm fine," she said, glancing at Harry, nodding. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?" he asked again, concern creasing his brow.

"Yeah." She nodded, smiling slightly. "I'm fine."

"All right," he said, bracing his hands on the table and stood up. "Then I guess I'll let you get back to your essay."

Hermione smiled and returned to her homework.

"But, Hermione," Harry said at the last minute, turning to glance at her. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

"Ok," she said.

"And I'll listen," he said. "Anything you have to say, I'll listen."

She smiled again and nodded. "Thanks Harry."

Satisfied, Harry nodded once and returned to the couch where he and Ron were engaged in a game of Exploding Snap with Neville. Hermione returned to her essay, however she found it difficult to concentrate as her thoughts began to take over. Realizing that she would get no more homework finished at that moment, she closed her book and slipped it into her bag.

"Harry, Ron," she said, heading for the portrait, "I'm going for a little walk. I'll be back before curfew."

"Alright," Harry said.

Ron frowned. "You're going alone?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I need to clear my head."

"Oh," he said. "Alright then."

Situating her messenger bag over her shoulder, she left the common room and turned left down the first hallway she came to. The halls of Hogwarts, an hour before curfew, were silent and lit by the gentle glow of the candles affixed to the wall or floating midair. Occasionally, a stray student returning from the library or a meeting with a friend would appear and Hermione would nod politely and move on.

She let her feet lead her as her mind wandered aimlessly through the thoughts racing through her head, the majority of her thoughts revolving around Draco. He was truly a puzzle, and Hermione wanted to figure him out, understand why he had been so different lately. It wasn't like the blond Slytherin that she had known to act so friendly with her, or as friendly as he could act. Something was going on, this Hermione knew.

Rooting around in her bag, Hermione found the small bag of Skittles her mother had sent her the other day. Aside from chocolate frogs, Skittles were her other sweet addiction. If her mother allowed her, Hermione imagined she'd be able to eat a dozen bags of the small sweet candies. Tearing the bag open, she fished one out and popped it into her mouth.

She continued walking and popping Skittles into her mouth. Reaching another corner, she absentmindedly turned down the next corridor, and stumbled as she crashed into another person. A pair of pale, long fingered hands caught her, saving her from a nasty spill to the ground. However, her bag of Skittles couldn't be salvaged as it fell to the ground, colorful, round candies skittering across the stone floor.

"Oh, bugger," she said, watching her candy roll away.

"Granger?"

Looking up, Hermione stared directly into Draco's eyes. "Draco?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Presumably the same thing you're doing," he said, removing his hands from her shoulders, brushing them awkwardly on his pants. "Taking a walk."

"Oh," she said, kneeling down to gather her scattered candy.

Draco stooped down to help her. "What are these?" he asked, picking one up and holding it up to the flickering candle light.

"Skittles," she said, returning the candy she'd gathered to the bag.

"And those are?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Muggle candy," she said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced up at him. "Try one."

Glancing at the red candy in his hand, he studied it skeptically and then gave it a tentative sniff.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shook her head and laughed. "You're supposed to eat it, Draco."

Giving her a suspicious look, he cautiously placed it into his mouth and bit down. With a critical look in his eyes, he chewed.

"Not bad," he said after swallowing.

Hermione smiled, finished picking up her candy, and stood up. "Walk with me?" she asked.

Draco considered her offer for a second before nodding. Together, they began walking down the corridor in silence as Hermione mechanically popped Skittles one-by-one into her mouth.

"Do you think I could have another?" he asked after a few moments.

She smiled, holding the bag up in her hand. "Hold out your hand."

Complying, Draco reached his hand out, palm up, and watched as Hermione poured some into his hand.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Her eyebrows shooting up in surprise, she grinned. "No problem."

Returning to their own personal musings, Draco and Hermione wandered the halls of Hogwarts in silence until curfew began its inevitable approach, forcing them back to their respective common rooms.


	5. Omnis Populus Egenus Alius

**Author's Note - **I've put it at the end.

**Another Note - **The title loosely means "Everybody Needs Somebody" in Latin. Well, more accurately, "All People In Need Of Others," because I couldn't find the right words in the online Latin dictionary I use.

**Disclaimer - **I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"Omnis Populus Egenus Alius"

* * *

Towards the end of October, just as Dumbledore had promised at the opening feast in September, the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton arrived in all the gale and glory expected of a group of young witches and wizards. The evening after the Goblet of Fire was presented to eligible students to enter into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Hermione ducked out of the common room, needing to get away from the excited chatter and Fred and George's seemingly never-ending displays of foolish mischief-making. All the commotion grated on Hermione's nerves, and she simply needed a moment to herself.

The lake, as usual, became her destination, and Hermione meandered through the halls of Hogwarts. Her thick cloak was wrapped around her, knowing the weather outside to be chilling, as all weather was at the end of October. Remaining sunlight cast the grounds in starkly contrasting shades of light and dark, the forms of which perpetually shifted and elongated as the sun sank. The trees by the lake had lost the majority of their leaves earlier that week, creating a thick blanket of yellows, oranges, and reds. Hermione waded through the multi-colored layer of leaves, her feet swishing rhythmically against the foliage. Reaching the edge of the lake, she toed the edge of the dark water and hugged her arms to her body, blowing a stressed breath of air out of her mouth.

It seemed her mind only focused on one person lately: Draco. He made her head ache, his shifting moods never seeming to stay on one emotion for longer than a few moments. Sometimes he would appear and say not a single word, leaving in the same silence that he arrived. His face would be carefully guarded against any emotion he may have felt; however, his eyes would reveal the trouble brewing beneath their cold, gray exterior. Other moments, anger would flush his face, filling his eyes with unabated hate, and he would scream and shout at Hermione until his voice grew hoarse. It was in those moments that Hermione felt equal feelings of fear and sadness towards Draco. Something was tearing him apart, and he obviously didn't know how to deal with it.

However, the problem lay in his apparent inability to talk about what bothered him. Hermione knew sometimes the only way to ease pain was to talk about it. Yet the main issue remained that he rarely talked at all, and when he did, it was all shouts, insults, and pureblood propaganda. Sometimes Hermione was at a loss as to what she should do about him. If he didn't talk about his problems, then there was nothing she could do.

However, she did know her mere presence helped him, for there were those rare moments where his shoulder relaxed, his fists unclenched, and he seemed at ease. Hermione wished she could experience more of those moments for she found them most revealing of his true character, such as his rather peculiar interest in Skittles. Yet, there was nothing she could do until he took the initiative and confided in her.

Behind her, leaves crunched and sticks cracked, and Hermione turned around, not surprised to see Draco approaching. They had adopted an unspoken routine in their meetings, the lake after dinner being their most frequent place and time.

"Hello," she greeted as he came to stand next to her.

Draco said not a word and moved not a muscle. He simply stared at the ground, letting the wind muss up his hair. Hermione peeked at his face and sighed, seeing his eyes carefully blank and expressionless. Running a hand through her unruly curls, Hermione did the only thing she knew to do when Draco acted like this.

"What do you think about the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton?" she asked, glancing at him, expecting no response and getting none in return. "I'm hoping to pick up bits of French while they are here. Have you ever been to France?" Hermione passed Draco a quick glance, seeing him shake his head ever so slightly. "During the summers my parents take me traveling. They say they might take me to France this summer, and it'd be nice to speak a bit of their language."

The streaks of sunlight reflected in the lake lengthened until, like a rubber band breaking, they popped and succumbed to the dim paleness of twilight. Hermione spoke, as this happened, about everything that entered her mind: all the countries she'd been to with her parents, her plans for Christmas break, imagined tasks she believed the Tri-Wizard Tournament would have, and even the current essay for Potions she was partly finished with. Draco stood and listened, or appeared to listen, as Hermione prattled on and on; her voice a constant presence and the words formed by her voice a useful distraction.

"Draco?" she asked when the light dimmed and edged towards darkness.

He turned towards her.

"It's dark, we should go in."

Blinking, he turned and headed back to the castle, Hermione not too far behind.

* * *

Tuesday afternoon arrived with as much doom and dread as any two hour period spent in the Potions classroom would bring. A dank chill met Hermione as she entered the dimly lit room, Harry and Ron slightly ahead of her. The faint aroma of billywig and murlap hung in the air, the trace remains from the sixth year potions class held earlier in the day. The three slid into their seats, Hermione customarily between Harry and Ron, and waited as other students filed into the classroom. Draco arrived in the midst of a group of other Slytherins, along with Blaise Zabini, his head held high and an arrogant step in his gait. The mask he wore in the presence of other people was dutifully in place, not a thread of evidence to the trouble that lay beneath his steeled exterior.

"Bloody Malfoy," Ron growled as he entered the classroom, his hands gripping his Potions text, and his lip curling in disgust.

Draco, hearing Ron's comment, paused and turned, his fellow Slytherins watching in anticipation. "Oh, has the Weasel something to say?" he asked snidely.

"I do, Ferret," he bit out, standing from his seat, his chair toppling over and crashing to the ground.

At once, the entire classroom of students stopped and watched as a fight began to brew.

Hermione anxiously grabbed Ron's shirt sleeve. "Ron," she said quietly. "Sit down."

Harry divided his attention between his enemy and his friend, the tips of his fingers touching the smooth, warm wood of his wand, ready for a fight. Ron ignored both his friends and glared at Draco, almost taunting him into a fight with his eyes.

"Then say it, Weasel," Draco sneered, breaking free from the group of Slytherins and striding over to the Gryffindor's side of the classroom, his black and green robes billowing purposely behind him. "Come on, say it to my face, you poor excuse for a wizard," he taunted.

Ron sneered, his top lip curling up as his nose wrinkled in disgust. "You're the poor excuse for a wizard, Malfoy," Ron retorted.

Laughing cruelly, Draco glanced at the Slytherins surrounding him. "Me?" He pointed one long, pale finger to his chest. "A poor excuse for a wizard?" he said, pausing for effect before his face darkened. "It's poor muggle-loving fools like you and your family that give purebloods a bad name."

Dead silence passed over the students, waiting for Ron's response.

Glowering menacingly, he growled, "Don't you dare insult my family." Ron gripped his wand, his ears radiating the flaming anger he felt within. "You're nothing but a Deatheater-wannabe."

In an instant, Draco's eyes lit with rage, and he whipped his wand out.

"_Stup-_"

"_Expelliarmus_," Hermione shouted quicker than Draco could get his curse out, his wand being wrenched from his grip, much to his surprise.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape roared as he entered his classroom, slamming the door behind him, the students jumping and racing back to their seats as their professor strode into the classroom. "Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Behind her, Harry grabbed Ron as he glared daggers at Professor Snape. Hermione froze, her wand still pointed at Draco, her eyes wide with terror.

Professor Snape came to a stop directly in front of Hermione. "I would suggest lowering your wand, Miss Granger," he demanded, his black eyes conveying every threat imaginable to a young witch or wizard currently under his direct scrutiny.

Lowering her wand, Hermione blushed. "But Professor-" she started to say, determined to explain herself.

"Make that another twenty," he said. "For your insolence."

"But Malfoy started it," she said, seething hate towards the blond boy appearing perfectly innocent before her. "He was going to curse Ron."

A bated pause of silence passed through the classroom, Professor Snape smiled, an expression that send chills up Hermione's spine. "Detention," he said. "Tonight after dinner." Professor Snape took a deep breath, his eyes darkening. "I do not tolerate blatant lies, Miss Granger. It would do you well to remember that in the future." Turning on his heel, he strode to the front of the room and waved his wand, directions appearing upon the blackboard. "The Calming Draught is most useful…"

And class began, students settling down, taking out their class materials, and copying down the recipe written upon the board. Slowly, Hermione sat down, her lips pressed together, everything Professor Snape lectured on not reaching her ears. She had received detention, all on her own, and with Professor Snape. What had gotten into her? Never had she acted in such a way in a class before. Feeling near tears, she reluctantly began copying down the directions for the Calming Draught, suspecting she would need a dose by the end of the day.

* * *

That night after dinner, Hermione made her way down to the dungeons and her imminent detention with her least favorite professor. Arriving at the door to the Potions classroom, Hermione knocked quietly.

"Enter," Professor Snape beckoned from within.

Opening the door, Hermione stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind her. Without looking up from the stack of essays he graded, Professor Snape pointed to the corner of the classroom where a stack of cauldrons sat beside a sink. "Scrub them," he said, "the muggle way." Glaring up at her, he sneered. "I trust you can handle that, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir."

Professor Snape returned to his grading, and Hermione approached the cauldrons. Peering cautiously into their cavernous insides, she recoiled in disgust. A thick layer of green sludge reminiscent of vomit coated the interior of all the cauldrons, and an odor like rotten eggs and skunk lurked in the surrounding air. Trying not to gag, she sighed, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, and began working.

Twenty minutes into her detention, enough time for the remains of the potions caking the insides of the cauldrons to get under her fingernails, Professor Snape stood from his desk.

"The Headmaster has requested my presence," he said, walking to the door. "I expect these cauldrons to be spotless by the time I return."

Nodding, Hermione watched as he left the classroom, leaving the cavernous room quiet and eerie. Returning to her scrubbing and scraping, Hermione muttered to herself.

"Stupid Malfoy." Biting her lip, she attacked the current cauldron with the scrub brush. "Damn Slytherin got me in trouble. It's all his fault."

Insults she would have never uttered in public streamed from her lips, her pent up rage at the blond boy's actions venting from her body and mind. Harry and Ron had been livid that afternoon after classes, claiming Professor Snape to be the smarmiest git ever to walk the Earth. And for once in her life, instead of Hermione scolding them for insulting a teacher, she agreed. Unfairness seemed to run rampant around Hogwarts, like a disease without a cure.

While her irrational part of her mind ranted and raved over what Draco had done, another part of her mind worried and fretted. In the nearly month and a half that she and Draco had come to an unspoken understanding, she knew he fluctuated between emotional extremes. She also knew most of what he displayed to the world was a natural front he put up as a defense against getting hurt, and there was no doubt in Hermione's mind that something was wrong in his life. And while she had no clue what problems plagued him, she was determined to find out.

Blowing a strand of sweaty hair out of her face, Hermione shook her head as her irrational side took over again. And then again, there were times that she just didn't know why she tried with him. His moods were as unstable and violent as a volcano, anger ready to burst through at the slightest jab. She often tired of his anger and scathing words. A person could only handle so much hostility. However, Hermione knew that on some level, he needed her. Everybody needed somebody in the world, and who did Draco Malfoy have? She feared the answer to be _nobody_.

The door to the Potions classroom squeaked open, and Hermione paused, praying that Professor Snape hadn't returned. However, when Draco entered, she sighed, her shoulders sagging. No matter how much she felt for the blond boy, he still was to blame for her detention, and her anger towards him still raged from earlier that day. Needless to say, he was the last person she wanted to see.

"Professor Snape?" he called out, his hand lingering on the door handle, not seeing Hermione. "I need to speak…" Turning, Draco spotted Hermione and scowled. "What the hell are you doing in here, Granger?"

His harsh accusation prodded at her nerves, causing her to answer in uncharacteristic anger. "You got me detention," she spat out. "Remember?"

Crossing his arm, he regarded her coldly. "You got yourself detention. I had no part in it."

"You had every part in it," she said.

"I did not," he stated.

"You did too," she said. "I got detention because of you."

Draco paused, his silence tense with growing anger. "So you're saying this is my fault?"

"Are you thick in the head?" In a violent burst of anger, Hermione threw the scrub brush at Draco. "Of course this is all your fault."

Flinching as the brush arced past him, Draco took three steps forward, stopping directly in front of Hermione. Face to face, both seemed to vibrate with anger.

"It isn't my fault," he bit out.

"Yes it is. It's always your fault," she said.

Pausing, Draco glared at Hermione as he breathed deeply, the anger seemingly building with each breath. And she watched as his eyes froze over and his body became ridged with hate filled rage, knowing he would explode any second, just as he had time and time before. In those few moments, the anger she had felt melted into concern and trepidation. Then, like a dam breaking, anger filling the room, Draco began shouting, and Hermione readied herself for the worst.

"Right, because everything's always my fault," he shouted, clenching his fists at his sides. "Everything I do always ruins something. That's what you're trying to say isn't it?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head, her stomach twisting at his words, noticing the evident shift in his tone. "Draco-"

"I'm always the bad guy. Everybody always thinks the worst of me."

"That's not true," she said, trying to reason with him, but knowing any rational logic would have no effect on him when his anger ran over.

"No!" he screamed, rounding on Hermione, getting in her face. "You don't understand."

She flinched and took a step back. "Now-" she tried to say, holding her hands out in front of her.

"You never understand. You think I'm this horrible person."

"No-" she said, but was cut off again.

"No one ever understands me." His face red and his anger beyond control, Draco paced back and forth. "Why doesn't anyone ever understand me?" Growling, his teeth bared like an animal, Draco spun and faced Hermione. "Why? Why is it always like this for me?"

She sighed, pressing her lips together. "Because you never-"

"I never what?"

"You never let anybody in," she said meekly, wiping her hands on the sides of her skirt.

Draco shook his head, his mouth twisted into a snarl. "No, you just never understand."

"Understand what?"

"Me."

"You don't let me."

Huffing angrily, Draco turned and strode to the door. "You're full of it, Granger."

"It's true, you know," she called after him. "How can I understand you, if you won't let me?"

Draco paused, breathing heavily, waiting for her to continue.

"I know something's wrong, Draco," she said, almost pleading, not wanting him to walk out of that door just yet.

Spinning around, Draco rounded on her again, and Hermione took a small step back. "You don't know anything, Granger," he shouted. "You live this perfect little life."

"It's not always perfect," she countered.

"Yes it is," he bit out. "I watch you."

Crossing her arms, Hermione frowned. "You watch me?"

"You have everything. It bloody makes me sick." Someone knocked upon the door and Draco scowled darkly. "What?!" he yelled at the door.

The door creaked open and a young man Hermione recognized as the famous quidditch star and student from Durmstrang, Viktor Krum, entered.

"I heard shouting," he said, his accent thick. "Is everything ok?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes-" she said, but was cut off by Draco.

"It's none of your bloody business," he yelled, taking a few steps towards Viktor. "Get out!"

Viktor shifted his questioning gaze to Hermione, and she nodded. "Everything is ok."

"Are you sure?" he asked, hesitant to leave Hermione alone in the classroom with the visibly angry Draco.

She nodded. "Yes, we're just working something out."

Sighing, he turned and left the Potions classroom, leaving Hermione and Draco once again alone. Stooping down, Hermione picked up the scrub brush she had thrown earlier, regret beginning to filter in when she realized she had thrown it _at_ him in her irrational anger. Setting it on the counter beside the sink and the stack of dirty cauldrons, she glanced at Draco. He stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes glaring at the door.

"Draco," she ventured cautiously, "you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me what I need, Granger," he said, still scowling at the door.

"Ok, then at least look at me," she said. Begrudgingly, he gave her one fleeting glance before looking away. "I know something's wrong," she said. "I'm not stupid."

Draco rolled his eyes, still refusing to look at her.

"You can talk to me," she said. Tucking a strand of wild hair behind her ear, Hermione took a few tentative steps forward and came to stand in front of Draco, face-to-face. "Tell me anything, and I'll listen."

He took a deep breath, and as he let it go, his shoulders relaxed and the anger left his body like a wave retreating from the shore. Hermione watched as he studied the floor, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. After a few silent moments, he glanced up, his eyes guarded but devoid of any anger.

"I don't need your help, Granger," he said.

"You don't need it or you don't want it?" she asked.

Her question struck something in him, she could tell as the shield he constantly kept up slipped, and she knew the answer, although she knew it wouldn't be the one he gave.

"Malfoys don't need help," he said, turning and walking towards the door. "Especially from people like you."

When the door banged shut, leaving Hermione all by herself, she sighed, her shoulders sagging, and she returned to her work, scrubbing and rinsing cauldrons for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Author's Note – **Yes, I realize it's been two weeks since I updated. I needed a week off to clear the cobwebs. But, now things are clear and fresh. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. We're starting to see exactly the sort of trouble Draco is having with life. It's rather sad really, and I really wanna just grab him and hug him, but that's Hermione's job. Well, now that you've read the chapter and my ramblings, please drop a review and let me know what you think.

Oh! If you're also a fan of A Disguised Blessing, you'll have noticed that I haven't updated that one in a few weeks. Sorry, but I'm having some serious trouble with that fic. I'm in the middle of making a major decision with that one, but check my profile periodically for any important announcements regarding A Disguised Blessing.


	6. Suspiciosus

**Author's Note – **My, aren't you a lucky bunch. A new chapter and it isn't even Friday yet. You can consider this an early birthday present. I'm turning 23 next week, and I'm feeling rather celebratory. You also might notice more updates, more often. I'm not making any promises, but I've been focusing solely on Fire Dragon for the past week, and I'm more than half-way through chapter eight right now. Oh! Don't forget to review!

**Another Note – **The title means "Suspicions" in Latin. You'll notice that I'm including more and more from book four. It's my goal to create a lovely Draco/Hermione fic that follows the books to some degree. I hope you enjoy it. You may also notice in the up and coming chapters that we're getting close to a crossroads with Draco. That doesn't mean that the fic is coming to an end. Folks, we're in for the long haul. I've got major plans for this baby. The main plot hasn't even come into effect yet. Let's take a poll. I love polls. What do you think about Draco being non-human? (Note: The results of the poll will have NO effect on Draco's species, what so ever.) And, as always, don't forget to review.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy. Although, I've heard Oliver Wood is up for…What? What's that you say? That was only a rumor? Darn! Nevermind, Oliver Wood is still JKR's along with everything associated with Harry Potter. However, any reviews I get I'm claiming as my own.

**Enjoy!!!

* * *

**

**Chapter Six**

"Suspiciosus"

* * *

November first, the day after Halloween, tension coursed through Hogwarts, effecting the students and staff alike. Harry Potter's name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire, entering him unwillingly into the Tri-wizard Tournament. And the castle buzzed with the gossip surrounding the unfortunate events of that Halloween. One could barely turn a corner without hearing a snippet of one of the many rumors racing through the school. The Gryffindor common room held fast to these rumors, variations from each end of the spectrum coloring the chatter emanating from the huddled groups of students. In a secluded corner of the common room, Hermione and Ron fought in hushed whispers, the rumors not interesting them in the slightest since the matter drew closer to home for them.

"He always has to be the hero," Ron seethed, pacing back and forth. "Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World and Hogwarts Champion."

"Ron, you know Harry's not like that." Hermione watched him as he walked back and forth, his fists clenched angrily.

"Blimey, Hermione," he said, pausing, and stared her in the eye. "He entered himself into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. How much more of a bloody hero can you get?"

Sighing, Hermione shook her head, rubbing her temples. "But, Ron, Harry didn't enter himself," she said.

"Oh," Ron said, laughing harshly. "If he didn't enter himself, then who did?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not sure."

"Exactly," Ron said. "You're not sure because _Harry entered himself_."

"But Harry wouldn't."

"Of course he would," he accused. "Harry entered himself because he wanted the attention and the fame," Ron mocked nastily.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione demanded, her hands perched on her hips, a striking resemblance to the Weasley Monarch. "Stop for one moment and think about what you're saying."

Ron crossed his arms over his chest angrily. "And think what?"

"That everything you are saying is absolute rubbish," she half-shouted angrily. "Harry would not do that! You know he's not like that."

Frowning, Ron scowled. "Then where is Mr. Hero? If he's so innocent, then shouldn't he be here defending himself?"

Hermione paused and sighed, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm not sure where he is."

"Exactly. He's probably down in the Great Hall getting his picture taken," Ron sneered. "The bloody git just can't seem to keep himself out of the Daily Prophet."

For a long moment, Hermione stared at Ron, not believing he would loose faith in Harry. Then, she shook her head and sadly turned away, walking out of the common room. The entire school seemed to gravitate to anything that dealt with Harry. It didn't matter if it was true or not; if it had Harry in it, then they were all over it like a sniffler to shiny metals. The prospect of Harry Potter, an under-aged wizard, finding a way to bypass Dumbledore's spells and enter himself into the competition was too juicy of a piece of gossip to pass up. However, no matter if someone believed he had entered his name or not, the fact still remained that an under-aged wizard had been magically entered into a possibly life threatening competition.

Hermione found herself in a deserted corridor a long way off from the Gryffindor common room, perched upon a deep window sill, her head down and reluctant tears dribbling down her cheeks. Why Harry? What had he ever done to deserve all the tragedy and bad luck cast upon him in his life? He was a good person, an honest person, a loyal person, and a person who loved with all his heart. She had done extensive research into the Tri-Wizard Tournament the moment she had heard it would be held at Hogwarts and knew the high risks associated with the event. Death was a possibility, almost an assurance for an under-aged wizard, and Hermione didn't want to lose her best friend. It was thoughts as such that caused the trail of tears and the barely covered sobs coming from her.

"Granger, it's past curfew," the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy needlessly pointed out as he approached Hermione. "Wouldn't have thought you to be one to break the rules."

Hermione sighed and quickly wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks. Hopping down from the window ledge, she glared at the blond boy, although the nasty look was lost beneath the obvious fact that she had just been crying. "Shut up, Malfoy. I don't want to talk to you right now," she said.

"Excuse me?" he said arrogantly, crossing his arms in a display of pompousness. "Nobody tells a Malfoy to shut up."

"Well, I just did," she said. "Live with it." Hermione began to walk away, each step upon the stone floor bordering on a stomp.

Draco caught up to her in a split second and caught her by the arm. "I will not live with it," he demanded, turning her around to face him. "And you will not walk away from me."

Hermione yanked her arm from his grasp. "I _will_ walk away, and you _will_ live with it," she yelled. "And you _will_ shut up, and you _will_ leave me alone."

Tears began trickling down her face again, and Draco froze and watched them fall from her eyes.

"And I don't care if it's past curfew, and I don't care if you're a Malfoy," she cried, her head beginning to hurt from all the pent up emotion wanting to let loose.

Draco fidgeted and eyed Hermione warily, unsure how to deal with crying girls when it hadn't been his intention to make them cry. Hermione stood, feeling suddenly small beside Draco, the boy's height already towering over her short stature. Crossing her arms, she stared off to the side.

"Just go away," she said quietly, one part of her praying for him to turn and walk away while another part wanted him to stay.

Draco wasn't in the slightest a sensitive person towards other people; he preferred to keep his distance. Normally, he would simply walk away from a sobbing girl, not wanting to entangle himself in the complicated emotion of the female gender. However, no matter how much his stubborn Malfoy pride demanded he ignore her, he couldn't forget the kindness she had shown him over the past several weeks. Hermione had been there when nobody would have even given him a second glance. So, knowing he owed Hermione that much, and unable, or unwilling, to offer her sympathy, he decided the route of rational logic would be the best path to take.

"Why are you crying, Granger?" he asked plainly.

Sniffling, Hermione wiped at her eyes and hugged herself, staring at her scuffed trainers. "Everybody thinks Harry entered his name into the goblet," she said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "If I remember correctly, Potter's name was chosen; therefore, he entered his name into the goblet. It's quite simple."

"But he didn't," she said, staring at him with watery eyes. "Harry didn't enter his name."

Draco sighed, staring at her exasperatedly. "Then tell me, Granger," he said. "How did Potter's name get in the goblet?"  
"Somebody must have entered his name instead," she theorized.

Laughing harshly, Draco stared at Hermione with an incredulous look on his face. "You think someone set Potter up?" he asked sarcastically.

Ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, she nodded. "Yes! It's the only explanation," she said, her previous emotions washing away as her brain began spinning. Biting her lip, she pensively tapped her chin. "Now, who would have entered his name into the goblet?"

Draco studied Hermione as she stood before him, the wheels in her brain obviously turning as she adopted a far away look in her eyes. Brushing a lock of blond hair out of his eyes, he rolled his eyes and sneered at her. "Really, Granger," he began coldly, "the only person who put Potter's name into the goblet was Potter himself."

As Draco stalked away, Hermione sighed, defeated, and returned to her window ledge, choosing to stare morosely out the window and at the darkness enveloping the grounds. When she remembered moments later that she was indeed out after curfew, she dejectedly returned to her common room and the imminent problems she had run from in the first place.

* * *

After dinner on Wednesday, Hermione managed to tear herself away from Harry and Ron, claiming that she needed to study. However, that being half the truth, she failed to tell them the true nature of her need to get away. Ron, still not speaking to Harry, had chosen Hermione as his confidant, and frankly, she tired of his constant ramblings about the unfairness of his life. Some things in life mattered more than money and fame, such as friendship, and Ron seemed to refuse to learn that lesson. So, with her bag thrown over her shoulder, Hermione left the Gryffindor common room, the library her destination.

Students filled the library, the middle of the school term bringing many unexpected essays and projects. Hermione wove her way through the tables of students, managing to find an empty table in the back corner of the library, rather secluded from the other tables. Plunking her bag down upon the table, she retrieved a parchment from the side pocket and a quill from the front pocket. Flicking her hair back over her shoulder, she studied the short list she had started the other day.

_People Who Could Have Entered Harry's Name Into The Goblet_

_1. Professor Snape_

_2. Seventh Year Slytherins_

_3. You-Know-Who_

_4. Lucius Malfoy_

_5. Professor Moody_

Sighing, she bit her lip, tapping the point of her quill on the corner of the parchment, ink splattering upon the parchment in tiny, black dots. Then, she shook her head and scratched out the last name. True, the majority of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had been atrociously incapable of teaching or aligned with You-Know-Who, save Professor Lupin of course; however, Hermione highly doubted Professor Moody would try to kill Harry by entering him into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The man was simply too paranoid about dark magic and the evils lurking around each corner, with all his constant vigilance and dark detectors, to even fathom killing a student.

"Hello," somebody said in a thick accent as they sat down across from Hermione.

Looking up, Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. Viktor Krum sat across from her, a smile upon his dark features. "Hello," she said back, surreptitiously removing her parchment from the table and Viktor's view.

"I don't believe ve haff officially met," he said, sticking his hand out. "I'm Viktor Krum."

Hermione smiled politely. "Hermione Granger," she said, shaking his hand. "It's a pleasure."

"No, the pleasure is all mine, Herm…Herm-iny," he said, stumbling over her first name.

"Hermione," she repeated patiently.

"Her-my-knee," he said slowly, trying to get his mouth around the syllables. "Vell, I haff a question for you."

She smiled and nodded, urging him on.

"The boy I saw you vith the other day," he said. "In the dungeon classroom."

"Draco," she supplied.

"Yes." He nodded. "I just vanted to make sure everything is alright. He vas shouting at you quite a bit."

"Oh," Hermione said, pursing her lips, trying to decide how she should explain their complicated relationship. "He needed to blow some steam off," she explained. "But I did have everything under control."

Viktor frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Because I don't think a pretty girl such as yourself deserves being shouted at like that."

Hermione blushed. "Well…" she trailed off as a shadow descended upon her table. Glancing up, she saw Draco standing beside them, his eyes glaring at Viktor, and his arms crossed in an arrogant display of superiority.

"Move," he demanded. "I'm sitting here."

"Draco!" she scolded, instantly embarrassed.

Viktor glanced between Hermione and Draco. "Vell, I do haff an essay to write," he said, standing from the table, seemingly immune to Draco's caustic glare, but not unaware of it.

"Viktor," she said. "You don't have to go."

"It has been nice talking to you, Her-my-knee," he said and then walked away.

She watched him leave before turning her eyes upon Draco, who had taken his seat across from her. "Draco Malfoy! That was incredibly rude of you."

He simply shrugged, leaning his chair back until it balanced on two legs. "I needed to talk to you," he said, folding his arms behind his head.

Hermione glowered at him, silently fuming. "I don't think so," she said, stuffing her things into her bag. Standing from the table, she grabbed her bag and began stalking away.

"Granger, wait," Draco said, catching Hermione by the arm.

Hermione growled. "What?" she asked, more than annoyed at the moment.

Draco glanced around him quickly and then dragged Hermione between two tall book shelves, stopping when all the familiar noises of the library fell away, and he knew they wouldn't be overheard. "I've been thinking," he said, his silver eyes unguarded and his tone level and void of his characteristic drawl.

Hermione crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "About?"

"What you said about Potter being set up."

Tilting her head to the side, she regarded him curiously. "And?"

"Well, Potter may be a right git and annoying as all hell," he said, and Hermione rolled her eyes, having heard such insults before, "but he isn't stupid."

Hermione, slightly taken aback by his words, peered at him closely, her chocolate brown eyes carefully scrutinizing his silver grays. Instead of seeing his signature cold mockery, his eyes were a clear, stone gray.

Running a hand through her hair, Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, I've made a list," she said, "of all the people I think would set Harry up."

Rummaging around in her bag, she handed him the folded parchment. Draco took it from her, unfolding it, and quickly scanned the page. She watched as his eyes flicked from one name to the next, pausing upon one in particular. Draco glanced up at Hermione.

"You have my father on here," he said, and Hermione couldn't discern whether his tone conveyed accusation or mere observation.

"He gave Ginny that diary in our second year and nearly killed her," she explained, going for the latter. "I'm not discounting him."

To her surprise, Draco simply nodded. "There is one person I'd like to add," he then said, glancing up at Hermione. "Do you have a quill?" He stuck his hand out, and Hermione gave him her quill.

Turning to the right, Draco braced the parchment against the library wall with one hand and scribbled another name using his other. Finished, he returned the parchment and quill, feathered end out, to Hermione. Glancing at the name, Hermione frowned.

"Igor Karkaroff?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"The headmaster of Durmstrang?"

Again, he nodded his head. "I've seen him talking with Professor Snape," he said, paused, and then added, "and he knows my father."


	7. Laboro Uniter Melior Quam Laboro Seorsum

**Author's Note** – This is a nice, long chapter. I hope you enjoy it. It's not my favorite but I don't think it's that bad. There's some cute Draco/Hermione scenes towards the end. Don't forget to review!!!!

**Another Note – **The title loosely means "Working Together is Better Than Working Apart" in Latin. Thank you everybody for your reply to last chapter's poll. I respect everybody's opinions but I'll remind you again that Draco's species has already been determined. Please, feel free to ask questions, give comments, constructive criticism, random thoughts, your last quiz score in English, or your opinion on gumballs. All is welcome in review form.

**Disclaimer – **My arbormancy practicing elf from my other novel insists that I don't own Harry Potter. I keep telling him that I do, but he's very insistent that I don't. So, I guess I don't own Harry Potter. But that arbormancy practicing elf? I do own him. He's mine. All mine! (This also includes my geomancy practicing elf and my dwarf who speaks in rhyme.) Although, none of them show up in this fic…

**Enjoy

* * *

**

**Chapter Seven**

"Laboro Uniter Melior Quam Laboro Seorsum"

* * *

The weeks leading up to the first task were filled with nightly jaunts to the library and daily observations of the people on the list, or those they could observe, for Hermione and Draco. However, all their work proved futile for all they seemed to accomplish were headaches and outbursts of frustration and annoyance, more so for Draco than Hermione. As the first task drew nearer and nearer, Hermione noticed Harry becoming more and more agitated, fear the most likely cause. She had spent many nights debating within herself whether or not she should alert Harry to the possibility of someone setting him up. However, the more Harry fretted as the days went on, the more Hermione wondered if letting Harry know would help him or harm him in the long run. A week and a half before the first task was scheduled to occur, Hermione finally gave in and revealed to Harry her suspicions.

"You think I'm being set up?" he asked late Sunday night in the common room.

She nodded. "Positive," she said.

"That's kind of what I've been thinking," he then said.

"It's the only explanation." Hermione worried the edge of her skirt, crumpling it up and smoothing it out repeatedly.

Nodding, Harry ran a hand down his face. "Do you have any ideas who could have done this?"

"I've made a list." She handed him the parchment.

Taking it, Harry glanced at it, some names causing him to nod in agreement while others evoked his eyebrows to rise in surprise.

"You wrote down and then scratched out Professor Moody," he said, pointing to the crossed out name.

Hermione explained her theory, and Harry nodded. "That does make sense," he said, glancing at the parchment again. "Igor Karkaroff? You think he could have set me up?"

"I…I just have a feeling about him," she said, struggling to explain away his name without revealing that Draco had helped her.

Harry nodded. "He creeps me out," he said and glanced at the parchment again, frowning as he ruffled up his messy, black hair.

At that moment, the portrait to the common room opened, and Ron strode in. He crossed the common room, his head held high, and the fact that he refused to look at Harry was obvious in his gait. Their fellow Gryffindors watched as Ron passed and disappeared up the boys' staircase, several whispering among themselves. It wasn't a carefully contained secret that Ron was less than pleased with Harry at the moment. The rumors concerning their row were just as contagious and lasting as the ones regarding Harry's position as the fourth competitor in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Hermione watched the exchange between her two best friends, or rather the lack of it, and sighed. "You really ought to talk to him," she said.

Harry glanced at Hermione. "I've tried," he said sadly, "but he just won't listen."

"I think he's jealous," she said.

Frowning, Harry laughed harshly and said, "Of what? Getting killed?"

Hermione gave Harry a pained look. "No," she said. "Of all the attention you're getting."

Harry sighed.

"Ron comes from a large family," Hermione said. "I don't think he's used to getting all the attention he sees you getting."

"Well, he doesn't have to be such a bloody git about it," Harry said.

"Harry," Hermione said and Harry glanced at her. "Go talk to him."

Harry rolled her words around in his head for a few moments before heaving himself out of his chair. "I guess you're right, Mione," he said, heading for the staircase.

She smiled cheekily. "I'm always right, Harry," she said.

Sending her an equally cheeky grin in return, he disappeared up the staircase.

* * *

As the days drew closer to the first task, the search for the suspect who had set Harry up faded into the background as the urgency in getting Harry prepared became top priority. However, not knowing what exactly the first task would entail made preparing for the event difficult if not impossible. The week prior to the first task, Hermione spent the majority of her free time in the library, pouring through books, and today wouldn't be any different.

With her bag held over her shoulder, Hermione wound her way through the halls of Hogwarts, theories running through her head, preoccupying the majority of her thoughts. As such, when she turned the last corner, she didn't see the person coming from the opposite direction and walked straight into him.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she said, taking a step back. Looking up to see who she ran into, she raised her eyebrows in surprise to see one of the older Weasley brothers standing before her.

"Quite sorry, Hermione," he said, grinning the famous Weasley grin, his teeth shining in a straight row.

His face familiar but his name having slipped from her mind, she searched her memory for his name. "Charlie!" she exclaimed, remembering him from the few times she'd been to the Burrow. "What are you doing here?" she asked, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

Charlie puffed out his chest proudly. "I'm here on important business," he said.

"What kind of business?" she asked, curious as to the sort of business that would bring him to Hogwarts.

"Ah, ah," he said, smiling humorously. "I can't say, but you'll find out soon enough."

"Oh," she said. "Alright then. Well, I'm off to the library."

"Have a nice day, Hermione." Waving, Charlie disappeared around the corner.

* * *

A cold sun hung in the sky, snowflakes slowly drifted to the ground, and the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins shivered while they waited for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson to begin.

"I don't know why Charlie would be here," Ron commented, hugging himself. "Mum didn't say anything about it in her last letter."

"Hmm," Hermione said. "He said he was on important business."

"Do you think he was doing something for Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps," she said, scratching the tip of her nose with her mittened hand. "He could have been coming from his office."

"And if he was here," Ron said. "Why didn't he come and say hi?"

"He might have been in a hurry," Hermione suggested.

"I barely get to see him," he pouted.

"Ron," Hermione said. "I'm sure he was just really busy."

At that moment, Hagrid exited his small hut, approaching the gathered group of students with a large smile upon his face. In his right hand, he held a large crate while his left hand was tucked against his side, a large white bandage covering his fingers. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spotted the bandage and frowned at each other.

"Goo' mornin' class," he said, placing the crate on the ground.

Horklumps were small, pink creatures that strongly resembled squat mushrooms and had an enormous appetite for anything small and fast, grasshoppers in particular. Once Hagrid had the class busy feeding their horklumps grasshoppers, Hermione quickly waved him over.

"'Ello you three," he greeted. "Wha' can ah do for yeh?"

"Hagrid, what happened to your hand?" Hermione asked, pointing to his hand.

"Oh, this?" he asked, holding up the injured appendage. "Ah, nothin' to worry yourselves over. Ha' a minor mishap wi' a blast-ended skrewt," he explained as if such an injury happened daily.

Hagrid wandered off to help a pair of Slytherins with their horklump, and the three glanced at each other disbelievingly. "I don't think any of the classes besides ours have worked with blast-ended skrewts," Hermione said, carefully picking up the bright pink horklump Hagrid had given them, mindful of the fine bristles covering the creature. "And that was weeks ago."

Harry opened the container of grasshoppers and handed one to Hermione. "Maybe Hagrid kept one as a pet," he offered.

"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning as she fed the grasshopper to the horklump in her hand. "I have a strange feeling."

* * *

Friday night during dinner, Hermione absentmindedly spooned vegetable stew into her mouth as her brain ran in circles. Beside her, Harry and Ron engaged themselves in their typical quidditch talk. Instantly bored with their conversation, Hermione let her eyes wander. Draco sat across the Great Hall, quietly eating dinner while Blaise Zabini chatted his ear off. From her position, Hermione could tell he only offered her half an ear, half-hearted nods and shrugs his only responses, something else occupying his mind. From the rafters, the nightly owl post arrived, a dozen or so owls searching out their owners. One in particular, a large black owl, landed beside Draco's plate, dropping a letter before taking off into the air and disappearing into the enchanted ceiling.

Hermione watched as he stared at the letter with a certain degree of trepidation, an emotion it seemed only she could detect as the rest of his house continued on with their dinner. She watched as he opened the letter, scanned it quickly, and strode out of the Great Hall, throwing the now crumpled up letter on the floor. Blaise watched him leave, and then with a moment's consideration, followed him.

* * *

Hermione had searched for Draco after dinner in all their usual meeting places, figuring if he wanted her company then he would turn up. However, he hadn't been anywhere she had looked, and with a certain amount of concern, she headed for the library.

Books were spread open on the table in the back of the library, _Wizard Competitions and Events: A History_, flipped open in front of her. Her finger ran down the page quickly before she turned to the next page and promptly did the same thing. She continued in the same repetitive fashion, hoping for any clues regarding the nature of the Tri-Wizard Tournament to pop up.

Across from her, someone quietly slid into the chair, folding their arms on the table. Hermione glanced up, smiling to see Draco. He met her gaze as he lowered his head to rest on his arms, his eyes glazing over as his mind receded to wherever it went when he was in one of his quiet moods.

Hermione continued to work, aware of Draco's presence at the table. When she finished going through the book, finding nothing, she stood from the table and wandered off in search of new ones. Heading down between two towering shelves of books, aware of Draco trailing quietly behind her, she ran her finger along the spines of the books, looking for anything that would help her. Draco followed her every step, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark gray pants and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. His hair, soft and baby-fine, was in disarray, and he made not a move to fix it. He radiated a sad aura, which Hermione was well aware of, and she wondered what went on in his head, more than positive the letter he had received earlier was the cause.

Squatting down, she studied a collection of volumes she thought might help her and nearly missed the quiet word Draco uttered. Glancing to her left, she spotted Draco crouched beside her and frowned.

"What did you say?" she asked him.

"Dragons," he repeated softly.

Grabbing his arm gently, she stood, pulling him up with her. "Dragons?"

He nodded. "They're going to have to get past a dragon," he said.

"For the first task?" she asked, her fingers covering her mouth and her eyes as wide as moons.

Draco nodded.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said seriously, hoping he was merely jesting.

He shook his head, gazing at her solemnly.

"Oh God," Hermione said, taking a step back and bringing a hand to her heart. Suddenly, everything made sense. Charlie being at Hogwarts. Hagrid's burn. How did she not know? "How do you know?" she asked.

"I've seen them," he said.

"You've seen them?"

He nodded. "In the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione paused for a minute before grabbing Draco's hand and dragging him towards the library doors. "Show me," she said, dragging the boy behind her.

Digging his heels into the carpet, Draco wrenched his hand away from Hermione, the force of which caused her to stumble slightly.

She stared at him. "I want to see," she demanded. "Show me where." Hermione pointed to the doors.

Draco shook his head and glanced at the clock; curfew would begin in fifteen minutes. Hardly believing she was going to break a major rule, Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said. "I need to see them."

He stared at her, his hands fidgeting at his sides, unsure of what he should do next.

Hermione regarded him sternly. "If you won't show them to me, then I'll just have to go search for them myself." Grabbing her bag from the table, she began striding out of the library.

Draco sighed and chased after her. "Fine, I'll show you" he said, grabbing her by the arm.

* * *

Hermione stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a far walk from anything, her eyes wide with terror. Draco stood beside her, his face awash in moonlight. Off in the distance, a little ways into the forest, four dragons raged within a huge enclosure. Several people scurried around, shooting off spells, trying to tame the fiery beasts as the dragons in question stomped their meaty legs, thrashed their talons, and roared currents of fire into the night air. And with unabated fear, she watched from afar, barely aware that Draco stood quietly beside her.

Harry was going to face these great beasts in just a few days, and the fact registered before her mind could wrap itself around the concept, the effect nearly bringing tears to her eyes. As she watched the spectacle, horrid thoughts and visions swam before her eyes, images of Harry injured, mangled, or worse, dead. The first task no longer became something to win, if it ever had been, but something to survive. She had to tell Harry; she had to warn him.

As she and Draco began the long walk back to the castle, Hermione fretted and worried her hands together, her mouth moving without thinking as she rambled, her concerns and worries forming as unconscious chatter. Halfway back, Draco stopped her.

"Granger," he said. "Stop."

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"If it helps any, the rule book only banned the admittance of objects other than one's wand at the start of the task," he said. "It said nothing about bringing things into the task after it's begun."

Hermione stopped in her tracks, Draco's words revolving in her head as their true meaning registered. "That's it!" she exclaimed. "I know what will help Harry."

Taking off, Hermione sprinted back to the castle, Draco once again trailing behind her.

* * *

The first task arrived quicker than anybody could have imagined, for spectator or participant. Hermione could barely sit still through the entire event, the edge of her seat digging into her rear, and her legs bouncing up and down as if they had a life of their own. Ron tried to placate her throughout the first task while worries of his own passed through his head, and Harry faced the Hungarian Horntail dragon in the ring below.

Once the first task was complete, and everybody came away relatively unscathed, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, along with the rest of the castle's inhabitants. One hurdle was crossed, and the next wasn't scheduled until February.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, the murmurings from each house barely louder than the clinks of silverware against the plates as students ate. After dinner, Hermione ducked away and searched for Draco. She found him in a deserted corridor on the seventh floor staring out a window, a wrinkled piece of parchment held loosely in his hand.

"Hi," she said, coming to stand beside him.

He glanced at her momentarily, the crinkled parchment stealthily disappearing from her view, before returning his gaze to the darkness out the window. "Hey," he said.

"I never got to thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Helping me," she replied. "It was very kind of you."

Draco scoffed at her words, his silver eyes glaring at his reflection. "Malfoys aren't kind," he said.

Hermione fidgeted slightly. "Then you were at least considerate."

Her words appeared to rest easier for him, for while he didn't respond, he didn't discredit her compliment either. Giving him one more glance, Hermione slid to the floor, her back resting against the stone wall beneath the window. Draco watched as she sat upon the floor before joining her. Smiling slightly, Hermione reached into her pocket, pulling out a package of Skittles and ripped them open, offering Draco a handful, which he immediately accepted.

"What's your favorite candy?" she asked after a few moments.

"Besides these?" he asked, gesturing to the assortment of Skittles pooled in his palm.

Hermione nodded.

"I'd have to say," he said, a thoughtful expression on his face, "Every Flavor Beans."

Hermione cringed. "Ew, I hate those," she said. "I always seem to get the tripe or booger flavored ones."

Resting his head against the stone wall, Draco glanced at Hermione. "That's why I like them. They're good for pranks," he said. "Someone asks you for a cherry flavored bean, and instead, you give them a blood flavored one."

"Ugh, remind me never to ask you for an Every Flavor Bean," she said.

Draco nodded and they both fell into a comfortable silence.

"Draco?" Hermione asked a moment later.

"What?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Draco glanced at her briefly, indecision casting shadows in his eyes. "It depends."

Hermione frowned.

Draco stared at Hermione for a moment, his eyes calculating. Then, he rolled his eyes. "Just ask it, Granger," he said, sighing.

"Why did you help me?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious."

Draco settled his head back against the stones, his eyes gazing upwards, shadows and reflections of emotions passing through them. "I…I don't really know," he finally said, and Hermione wondered if that was the truthful answer.

Crinkling the Skittles wrapper in her hands, Hermione studied the various dips and dents in the stone floor. "It was still nice…what you did," she said. "Even if Malfoys can't be nice, you can," Hermione said quietly with a bit of hesitation in her voice.

Squinting off into the distance, Draco sighed. "It really doesn't matter, Granger," he said. Then, before she could say anything, he got to his feet and walked away.


	8. Proficio

**Author's Note – **This is another birthday present to you! Aren't you lucky? I love this chapter. It's a great chapter. Oh! And don't forget to review. When you do review, I want to know if I'm doing a good job leaving out Americanisms. Yes, I am American, and I always try to keep things British with my HP fanfiction.

**Another Note – **The title loosely means "Progress" in Latin. Again, I love this chapter. It's a rather pivotal chapter. It leads up to the next chapter where there's a turning point. There's a lot of clues in this chapter as to what is going on with Draco, or rather one of the things going on with him. Lots of foreshadowing. This is also a long chapter. 15 pages!

**Disclaimer – **My arbormancy practicing elf from my other non-HP novel is on vacation. So, instead, the fairy princess who has an intense fear of humans would like to inform you that no matter what I say, I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter. JKR is the proud owner of this magnificent world.

**Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Eight**

"Proficio"

* * *

According to Hermione Granger, the next best thing to accomplishment would be progress, and she indeed had progress where Draco Malfoy was concerned. While he still swung from one emotional extreme to the other, Hermione noticed more instances where he appeared almost happy, or as happy as a Malfoy would allow himself to appear.

After the first task, the school settled back into its usual order of classes, mealtimes, and nights devoted to homework and Exploding Snap. Rumors and gossip still clung to the corners of the school, as it always will in a school of adolescent witches and wizards. However, instead of the main focus being Harry and the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the prospects of a Yule Ball, announced the other day, caused the students to become all a flutter with dresses, prospective dates, and dances.

Hermione and Draco also fell back into their usual routine of shared meeting places and times. Or rather, they adopted a new set of places and times fit for the winter months, mainly the table in the back corner of the library or an empty, unused classroom.

"I honestly don't see why Professor Snape sees it fit to assign three foot essays," Hermione complained one Friday night in the library, "when two feet would have surely sufficed."

"Don't ask me to explain away his teaching methods," Draco drawled lazily, the side of his head resting in his palm, as he idly flipped through a book on rare potions ingredients.

Hermione blew a frustrated breath of air out of her mouth. "I've already begun repeating myself," she said. "Really, how many different ways can you describe the properties of dragon scales?"

Draco glanced up from his book and shrugged. "Perhaps, he gains a perverse pleasure in torturing his students through repetitive essay writing," he answered.

Closing the book sitting beside her elbow, Hermione set her quill down and stared at Draco wearily. "What ever his reasoning, I'm done for the night."

Glancing behind him at the clock, Draco raised an eyebrow. "Granger, finished with her homework before eight o'clock," he said with a touch of humor in his voice. "I am amazed."

"Oh shut it. I'm allowed a break every now and then," she stated.

Running a hand through his hair, Draco shrugged. "If you say so."

Gathering her books, Hermione stood. "I'm hungry," she said. "Let's go to the kitchens."

"I thought the kitchens were off limits to students," he said, a rather amusing glint in his eye.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and transferred all of her weight to her left foot. "Are you telling me you've never been to the kitchens?" she asked, feigning shock.

Draco matched her expression. "And are you telling me, you, Hermione Granger, are going to willingly break a school rule?"

"Oh for goodness sakes," she said, staring at the ceiling. "Come on!" Turning, she walked out of the library.

Shoving his things into his bag, Draco followed her out of the library, jogging slightly to catch up.

"So," he said once they had reached the Entrance Hall, "how did you find the kitchen?"

"Fred and George told me last week," she said, heading down one more staircase.

"The Weasley twins?"

"Yep," she said, guiding him through the lower hallways. Draco followed effortlessly, almost too effortlessly, Hermione noticed. "How did you figure out the location of the kitchens?"

Draco glanced at her. "I never said I knew where the kitchen was," he said, and Hermione sent him a disbelieving look, and Draco countered it with an amused smirk. "Come on, Granger," he drawled, "every Slytherin knows the whereabouts of the kitchens. It's the first thing we learn."

Hermione smiled and reached up to tickle the pear, the portrait swinging open with a bubbly chuckle and allowed them entrance into the kitchen. A few house-elves milled about, all dressed in tea towels and pillowcases, the busyness and chaos from dinner having died down as nighttime approached. Their entrance into the kitchens alerted a handful of elves to their presence, and Hermione and Draco soon found themselves surrounded by house-elves.

"Hermione Granger!" Dobby squeezed himself between two other elves and beamed up happily at Hermione, a bright pink sock covering one of his ears. "Dobby is so happy to see you, Miss."

"It's good to see you too Dobby," she replied with a warm smile.

"Can Dobby get you anything?" he asked, hopping up and down on his feet, the rest of the elves asking similar questions all at once. "Pumpkin juice? Butterbeer?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Thank you, but I think I can manage on my own."

Dobby froze, as did the other elves, and stared at Hermione with wide eyes. "Oh, no, no! Dobby can't do that. Dobby can get Hermione Granger something," he said.

"Really, Dobby, I can do it," she said, trying to work her way through the hoard of house-elves still surrounding them.

Grabbing her hand, Dobby shook his head, the sock stuffed over his ear falling to the ground. "Really, Miss, let Dobby get you something to eat," he said. "That's Dobby's job!"

"But-"

"Granger," Draco said. "Let the blasted elf do it."

"But-"

"At the very least," he said, heading to one of the tables against the wall, "it'll make it happy."

Hermione sat down in one of the chairs and frowned. "You don't have talk about him like he's an object," she said. "They're living creatures."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please," he said. "They're house-elves."

Whirling around, Hermione glared at him, her lips pressed together. "And they have rights, and they deserve respect," she spat out.

"No they don't," he said as if it were common knowledge.

"Yes they do," she insisted, "and I've started an organization to raise awareness about house-elf rights." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out one of her S.P.E.W pins.

Draco's eyebrows rose as he stared at the pin as if it had grown fangs. "Spew?"

"S.P.E.W.," she said, turning in her seat to face Draco. "The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare."

"You're barmy," he said. "You know that?"

"I am not," she demanded. "I just happen to care about the creatures around us." She thrust the pin towards Draco. "Here, take a pin. I've got loads of them."

He shook his head, his eyes wide and his hands held up. "I don't think so, Granger."

"Don't you care about their rights?" she asked, the pin still held out to him.

"Not, really," he said, albeit hesitantly.

Reaching out with her other hand, she grabbed Draco's hand and folded his fingers around the pin. "At least take it."

He sneered at the shiny pin sitting in his hand, one eyebrow raised in barely contained repulsion. Looking up, Draco glanced at Hermione. She returned his stare with a steady one of her own, refusing to back down. Draco sighed. "Fine," he said, slipping the pin into his pocket. "But I'm _not_ wearing it."

* * *

A week and a half before the Yule Ball was scheduled to occur, the excitement around Hogwarts reached a high, school dances being a rarity. Nearly every conversation heard throughout the castle had to do with either whom was going with whom, the color dress robes this or that person was going to wear, or what hair and makeup charms the girls would be using.

Classrooms number twenty-four through thirty-six, located on the fourth floor, were typically unused among the teachers as a location for classes. The students, realizing this, tended to use these classrooms for meeting places and hang outs. Number thirty-one, a tiny classroom at the end of a hallway, normally unused for its lack of space, was perfect to serve as a meeting spot for Hermione and Draco.

"I simply can't wait for the Yule Ball," Hermione mused, perched atop an old teacher's desk. "What do you think the Great Hall will look like? I wonder if they'll use a theme."

Draco looked up from drawing ugly patterns on the dust-covered desks. "I don't care what the Great Hall will look like. I think the whole thing is a load of rubbish," he said. "I hate formal dances."

"Oh cheer up," she said. "When's the next time you'll get to attend a dance?"

Finished with his current desk, Draco moved onto the next, his finger sliding through the grime. "I attend functions like that all the time at home," he said. "It's bloody boring, and a waste of my time. I don't see how the Yule Ball will be any different."

"Oh," Hermione said, swinging her feet. "Are you not going to go then?"

Draco glanced up at her. "Of course I'm going."

"If you don't want to go, then why are you going?"

"Because it's expected of me," he said spitefully.

"Oh," Hermione said again, not daring to venture any further with the current thread of conversation.

Pressing his lips into a firm line, Draco gave Hermione one last look before returning to his drawings. Hermione gripped the edge of the desk and hopped down, brushing the dust from her bum. Walking over to where Draco stood, she paused, tilting her head to the side, and studied his doodles.

"What's that supposed to be?" she asked, pointing to a lop-sided creature with a long, skinny tail.

Draco glanced at it. "A dragon."

"That's a dragon?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't look like a dragon," she said, peering at it closer, trying to see its likeness.

"Like you could draw a better dragon," he grumbled.

Hermione smiled. "Is that a challenge?"

Crossing his arms, Draco nodded his head. "Let's see it then."

Smirking at him smartly, her sheer joy at playfully besting Draco Malfoy radiating from her face, Hermione rolled up her sleeves. Carefully, she widened the dragon's tail, tapering it at the end, and gave it a line of small spikes running the length of its body, all the way up to its head. Then, evening out the body, she drew a more proportionate torso for the fierce dragon beginning to take place. As a final touch, she added jaunty lines coming from its mouth, the flames reaching the edge of the desk.

"There," she said, brushing her hands off. "That's a dragon."

Draco glowered at Hermione's dragon, his jaw moving forward as he scowled, before he moved onto the next desk. Hermione followed and watched as a quidditch game between Slytherin and Gryffindor began to take shape, Slytherin beating out Gryffindor by three hundred points. Idly, Hermione started drawing daisies around the perimeter as she watched Draco draw.

"Granger," he said once he noticed what she was drawing. "Stop drawing flowers on my quidditch game."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm drawing them _around_ your quidditch game."

"Granger!" he shouted. "There are other desks to draw on."

"Fine," she said, moving on to another desk. "Sorry."

At a new, fresh desk, she began outlining a couple books, giving them titles and wings. A wand appeared in the lower left corner, tiny sparks coming from the tip, no doubt enchanting the flying books.

"Draco?" she asked after a few moments.

"What?" he answered back, his back still turned, focused on his drawing.

"Who're you going to the Yule Ball with?" she asked, giving the feathers on the wings definition.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Just curious."

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "Probably Blaise though. Although, I'm sure Pansy will ask me," he added with a certain degree of disgust coloring his voice.

"You don't like Pansy?"

"Merlin, no," he said, glancing back at her. "The girl is as intelligent as a rock. Can't hold a decent conversation if her life depended on it. Who are you going with?"

Cocking her head to the side, Hermione stared at her finished drawing. "I don't know either," she said. "Although, I think Ron might ask me."

"The Weasel?"

Hermione sighed. "He's not a weasel, Draco," she said. "And yes, Ron."

"If he keeps calling me Ferret, then I get to call him Weasel," he said and then quickly changed the subject. "So, you think he's going to ask you?"

She nodded. "He keeps giving me these strange looks," she said.

"Maybe he's constipated," Draco drawled, heartily enjoying their current exchange.

"Draco!" she scolded, placing her hands on her hips and sending him a stern look, which was completely lost on the fact that his back was turned.

"It's a possibility, Granger," he said.

Huffing in annoyance, Hermione stared again at her doodle and bit her lip. "I don't know, though," she said. "If he doesn't ask me soon, then he's certainly going to miss his chance." Waving her wand, Hermione watched as her winged books suddenly animated, flitting and fluttering around the desktop. "Hey Draco," she laughed. "Come here and look at this."

* * *

"Ron's not speaking to me," Hermione told Draco a few nights later as they poked around the small classroom that had become one of their habitual meeting places.

"Why?" Draco asked, crouching down to peer into a cupboard. Opening the door, a cloud of dust escaped, causing him to sneeze three times in succession.

"Bless you," Hermione said absentmindedly. "Well, he asked me to the Yule Ball the other day."

Draco glanced at her. "And?"

"I said no," she said, studying an assortment of objects piled on top of a counter near the window.

"I thought you wanted the Weasel to ask you," Draco said, closing the cupboard doors.

"I don't know," she said. "Well, the point doesn't really matter considering someone else asked me first."

"Who?"

"Viktor Krum," she said, picking up a pin cushion with a long furry tail, obviously someone's transfiguration blunder. "He asked me before Ron did, and now Ron won't speak to me."

"Viktor Krum?" Draco asked, standing and staring at Hermione disbelievingly. "The seeker from Bulgaria?"

Hermione sighed, moving onto a tall cupboard in the corner. "I honestly don't see why everybody is getting so upset about this," she said exasperatedly. "That's exactly how Ron reacted."

Draco sneered. "Please, don't compare me to the Weasel," he said.

"Fine," she said, giving him a side-long glanced. "But I still don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Well," Draco began, crossing his arms in a display of half-feigned arrogance. "First, there's the fact that he's about as thick in the head as Goyle."

"He is not!" she snapped.

"He can't even say your name correctly," Draco spat.

"Honestly," she sighed, wrenching the doors to the towering cupboard open with a touch more force than needed. "Everybody needs to…" she trailed off as Harry stumbled out of the cupboard. Blood soaked his hair, dripping down his face and staining his school uniform.

"M-Mione," he slurred, swaying on his feet. "Help…help me."

Hermione froze, her hand clutching the cupboard door. "No," she whispered. "Oh God, oh God no."

Draco shoved her out of the way, his wand out. "Bloody hell, Granger," he said as Hermione stumbled back, barely catching herself against the window sill. "Anybody would expect you to know a boggart when you see one," he said.

Hermione gaped at him and then the boggart as it began to shift into Draco's worst nightmare. She watched as the boggart lengthened, its hair beginning to lighten from blood-matted black to pristine blond.

"_Riddikulus_," he shouted, and the boggart, which had taken on the form of his father, soon found itself dressed in hot pink robes and swiftly shoved back into the cupboard, a whispered charm spelling the cupboard shut.

Still bracing herself against the window ledge, Hermione stared at where the boggart had once been and where Draco stood, his face several shades paler. Draco, his eyes shadowed against revealing any emotions, regarded Hermione with brief contempt before turning and stalking out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him.

Once her heart had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, and her hands stopped shaking, Hermione gave the cupboard one weary glance before quietly leaving the room.

* * *

Christmas came faster than anybody expected, not that anyone was complaining with a Yule Ball on the horizon. Hermione almost lost herself in all the preparations required of a formal dance, feeling nearly buried beneath dress designs, flowers, and general excitement. However, she hadn't forgotten about Draco, far from it in actuality. She hadn't spoken to him since that day in their classroom and the boggart, and he seemed to be avoiding her, whether unconsciously or of his own accord. And she worried about him, as any friend would, and she certainly considered him her friend, no matter if the feeling was reciprocated. The image of Draco's father haunted her thoughts, the idea that Draco's worst nightmare was his own father. The idea didn't settle with Hermione, and her instincts went up, as if threatened, when she thought about his father.

The Great Hall, as expected, was decorated to the nines for the Yule Ball, and Hermione couldn't help but feel excited as she entered the Great Hall on the arm of Viktor. The Yule Ball went off without a hitch. Students and professors danced among themselves and in pairs, some slightly rowdier than others. And throughout the entire event, Hermione enjoyed herself, determined to not let Ron's childish antics ruin her night.

As the night began to wind down, Hermione managed to steal herself away for a few moments. The courtyard shimmered with fairy lights and sparkled as enchanted fountains shot glimmering water into the night air. Small groups of students occupied the benches strategically placed around the courtyard. Weaving her way between couples in hushed conversation and others in the midst of snogging, Hermione made her way to the fountain in the back corner, mostly hidden by bushes and iced vines. Draco stood, swathed in black velvet, staring at the fountain, fairy lights showering him in wavering light. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he would appreciate her company or not, before chancing things and walking over to him.

"Hey," she said. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to get away from Pansy," he replied rather numbly.

Hermione frowned, both at his words and his tone. "I thought you came with Blaise."

"I did," he said. "But Pansy has a way of attaching herself to you."

"Oh," Hermione said, watching the fountain.

Draco glanced at her. A fairy light fluttered over to where they stood and cast Hermione in an ethereal glow. Draco looked away. "What are you doing out here?" he asked. "Krum a bore?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, he's actually rather interesting to talk to. Talks perhaps a bit too much about quidditch," she said, "but I suppose all boys are like that."

Draco nodded.

"I'm actually trying to get away from Ron," she admitted a moment later.

"Why?"

"He's being a right nasty git tonight," she said. "Not happy about me being here with Viktor."

"His own fault," Draco said.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. He had more than enough time to ask me to the dance," she said.

They fell into a semi-comfortable silence, Draco staring off into the distance and Hermione fidgeting beside him. She wanted to ask him about the boggart and why his father appeared. However, she knew that would be treacherous territory to tread upon, if not deadly. She figured more neutral topics would be safer when Draco Malfoy was at the receiving end.

"Are you staying at Hogwarts for the remainder of break?" she asked.

Draco shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm going back to the manor tomorrow morning. Father wants me home." Hermione winced internally, and Draco glanced at her, hastily shifting the subject. "Are you staying?"

"No." She shook her head. "Harry and Ron are, but my parents are taking me to France for a week."

Draco nodded. "I remember you saying that," he said.

"I'm rather excited. Mum and dad are taking me to the Eiffel Tower. Did you know they had restaurants up there?" she asked.

"No, I didn't," he said, half of his mind interested in what she was saying, the other half wrought with carefully hidden anxiety.

"Altitude 95. That's the one we're going to," she said. "It overlooks the Seine and Trocadero Rivers, and it's rumored to be quite lovely. You've never been to France, have you?"

He shook his head silently.

"Well, I'll make sure to take pictures," she said as somebody began calling her name.

"Her-my-knee." Viktor appeared, holding two crystal goblets of pumpkin juice.

Hermione smiled brightly at Viktor, moving towards him as he eyed Draco warily. Taking one of the goblets from him, she turned towards Draco. "Draco," she said, and he looked up. "Have a good Holiday."


	9. Duo Vestigium Tergum, Unus Vestigium Por

**Author's Note – **Welcome back! You might want to grab a couple tissues before reading this chapter. It's rather emotional and tense. I had a difficult time writing it because I really wanted to get things just right. Please let me know how I did by reviewing. This chapter is super long, longer than last chapter. If you're curious, this chapter is 16 pages long and about 3,750 words.

**Another Note – **The chapter titles loosely means "Two Steps Back, One Step Forward," in Latin. And, yes, I'm aware that Blaise Zabini is a guy in canon. I'd forgotten that his gender was a known and made him a girl. I'm not going to change it, her roll in the fic isn't really major. Please review and let me know how you think this chapter was. I really worked hard to keep Draco and Hermione in character. I want to know if I did that.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter, that all goes to JKR. However, the plot is mine and any thing else you don't recognize is most likely mine.

**Enjoy and Review!

* * *

**

**Chapter Nine**

"Duo Vestigium Tergum, Unus Vestigium Porro"

* * *

France had been everything Hermione had expected, if not more. From visits to the Arc de Triumph and New Years Eve spent on the Champs-Elysees to eating at the top of the Eiffel Tower and shopping in Paris, she enjoyed every second there, feeling almost reluctant to return to school at the end of their short holiday. However, Hermione knew she had schoolwork waiting for her back at Hogwarts, and she dutifully returned the Sunday before classes began.

"Oi! Hermione," Ron called out that night in the common room. "I didn't know you were back."

Smiling at her friend, their minor row from before break having dissolved with time spent apart, she sat down beside him and watched as his bishop took down Harry's rook. "I just got back. How was your break?" she asked.

"It was great," he said.

"How was France, Mione?" Harry asked, peering at the chessboard, trying to make his next move.

"It was splendid," she said. "I took lots of photos."

"You did?" Ron perked up, looking semi-interested.

"Yeah," she said. "Mum's having them developed and then she's going to send them to me."

"Neat," he said, moving his pawn forward two spaces.

"Well, I'm off to the library," she said, picking up her bag.

"Now?" Ron asked.

"Yes now," she said. "I need to study."

"But the term hasn't even started yet," he said, rather confused.

"Honestly, Ronald, one doesn't have to wait until term begins to get ahead," she said, walking towards the portrait.

Ron frowned and Harry lazily waved his hand as she stepped out of the common room. "See you later, Mione."

In truth, the library wasn't Hermione's destination. True, studying was important and staying ahead was one of Hermione's goals; however, she had completed all of her holiday homework before leaving for France, and she'd done plenty of studying in the hotels they had stayed at. Harry and Ron surely didn't have to know her real destination: classroom thirty-one on the fourth floor, or know her reason: Draco. Draco was their enemy, and at one point in her life, he had been her enemy too. However, things tended to change as the years went by, and sometimes you find a friend in the most unlikely of places.

The classroom was dark when Hermione entered, vague shapes of desks warping what little light came from the window. Waving her wand, she lit the candles affixed to the wall and quietly closed the door behind her. The room appeared empty, and Hermione wandered between the desks, all of them now containing doodles in the dust covering them. Turning on her heel, she froze as she heard something shuffle in the far corner of the room behind the teacher's desk. Approaching the back of the room, she peered cautiously around the desk, hoping it was just a mouse and not something bigger. However, to her relief, it was only Draco. He sat in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his gaze glued to the wall opposite him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "God, Draco," she said, stepping closer to him. "You scared me."

He merely blinked, and Hermione knelt down in front of him.

"Hey," she said softly. "Are you all right?"

"Go away, Granger," he said morosely.

"Why?"

"I just want to be alone," he said, resting his forehead on his arms.

"Something's wrong," she deducted. "What's wrong? What's happened?" She scooted closer to him.

Draco growled, the sound muffled by his shirt sleeve. "Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. Just go away!" he demanded.

Hermione sat back on her heels as Draco turned his face away from her, a deep purple bruise coming into view, peeking out from the collar of his robes, marring his otherwise flawless skin. She stared at that bruise, at the painful color, and at the suspicious shape, as if someone's hand had formed the nasty mark.

A sick feeling washed over her stomach, and she reached her fingers out, the tips of which gently brushed against the blue and purple mottling of barely visible color. "Draco…"

Jerking back, Draco glowered at her darkly. "Don't touch me!" Swatting her hand away, Draco scooted further into the corner he had wedged himself into. "Just go away."

"No," she said. "Where'd you get that bruise?"

He scowled at her. "Nowhere. Now go away."

"Draco-"

"No!" he shouted, staring her in the eye. Hermione's eyes widened, noticing dried tear tracks on his face. "Just go away."

Standing her ground, Hermione looked at him seriously. "No. What is wrong?"

Hastily, he stood up and started towards the door. "Nothing," he bit out. "Nothing is wrong. You're delusional."

Hermione chased after him, catching him by the arm. "Draco-"

Draco's knees buckled, and squeezing his eyes shut, he barely muffled a cry of pain. Startled, Hermione withdrew her hand and gasped.

"Granger," Draco growled, his hands trembling. "Just go away. I don't need you right now." He started for the door again.

"You're hurt," she said, quickly moving in front of the door, blocking it. "Who did this to you?"

Clenching his jaw, Draco drew his hands into fists. "Move out of my way," he said.

"It was your father," she whispered. "Wasn't it?"

Draco took three swift steps forward, his nose nearly touching Hermione's. "You don't know anything about my father," he said, his eyes dark and swathed in coldness. "Get out of my way."

Wide-eyed, Hermione shook her head. "No. You need help."

Taking a shaky breath, Draco closed his eyes. "Don't tell me what I need. You don't know anything."

"I know enough that you need help."

"I don't need help."

"Yes, you do," she whispered.

"No, I don't," he countered, his words saying he didn't, but everything else about him screaming that he did need help, badly.

"Draco," she said softly, gesturing to his arm. "You can barely move your arm."

He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "I'm fine," he bit out.

"You are not fine," she said, steeling up all the courage she could find.

When Draco opened his eyes, they blazed with fury. "You have no right to say what I am and what I'm not," he shouted, trembling from head to foot.

Hermione found herself shaking along with Draco, her adrenaline peaking. "You need to see Madam Pomfrey-"

"No. I don't." Draco took an unsteady step back, his eyes wild, as if he were a trapped animal. "I don't…nobody needs to know."

Hermione watched as he shook uncontrollably, his hands clenched into fists, trying to quell the tremors, her own heart beating a million beats a second. "Draco-"

"Go away," he pleaded, taking a step back.

"No," she whispered back, taking a step towards him. "I won't go away."

Draco matched her step-for-step, taking one back as she took one forward. "Leave me alone."

"I won't leave you." Hermione reached out for him, his so carefully crafted resolve quickly crumbling.

He moved out of her reach. "I…I don't need you." He stumbled over his words, tugging at his hair. "I don't…I don't."

"Draco-"

"I don't n-need anybody," he shouted, both hands gripping his hair.

"You-"

"No."

"Draco-"

"No…no." He shook his head wildly. "I can't. No." His breaths came in gasps, short and sporadic. "No."

Hermione took another cautious step towards him, her hands held up. "Calm down," she said.

"Go away."

"You need help," she pleaded.

"No," he whispered. "I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Hermione took a step towards him as Draco took a step back.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped. "No," he said.

"Calm down." Hermione stepped forward, slowly as if approaching a scared child.

"I…I…" Panic flashed in his eyes, redness rimming their edges. He gaped at her like a fish, his mouth opening and closing, words trying but failing to get out.

Finally reaching him, she placed a gentle hand on his uninjured arm. "Draco," she said softly. "You need help."

His eyes fearful, Draco shook his head as his hands trembled, blindly gripping the desk behind him. "No, no, no." Draco stepped backwards, and tripping over a desk, he landed on the floor with a startled cry. "I don't need help," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't…I don't."

Hermione knelt down beside him. "Draco…" she started to say, but was cut short as he scrambled to his feet, pushing Hermione out of the way.

Bolting for the door, Draco ripped it open and ran out of the room. Hermione's eyes burned and her stomach twisted into knots. Slowly, she sank to the ground, her hands bracing against the floor. The tension that had filled the room like a thick impenetrable cloud began to fade, and with the disappearing tension came the tears. They fell from Hermione's eyes as her mind finally wrapped itself around what had just happened. And she cried, not for herself, but for a fourteen year old boy who was scared and abused, a fourteen year old boy who couldn't cry for himself because his father wouldn't let him.

* * *

Draco avoided Hermione after that night in the classroom, not prepared to face her after the emotional turmoil he had unleashed on her. Malfoys were supposed to be completely emotionless, never letting the wall they learned to erect at an early age fall, exactly what had happened in front of Hermione. Emotions were a weakness, and she had seen his greatest weakness of them all: his ability to feel pain. So, in typical Slytherin fashion, he rebuilt his façade and pretended those events had never occurred. He was Draco Malfoy, the cold and calculating bully from Slytherin who tormented his fellow students. He wasn't the blubbering idiot Hermione had witnessed; that simply wasn't him.

However, once one's façade crumbled, putting it back together was near impossible. There would always be cracks and weak spots, areas he would be unable to fix no matter what he did. Hermione had seen him at his weakest. She had witnessed his emotional breakdown. And worse, she had figured out one of his deepest secrets. A secret kept under close wraps in the Malfoy family. A secret Draco was sure everybody would dismiss as deceitful lies and a pathetic plea for attention. For who would believe that Lucius Malfoy, a prominent figure in the Wizarding World and respected worker in the Ministry, would abuse his only son? Nobody, that Draco was certain of, nobody except Hermione.

* * *

Hermione knew Draco would avoid her, and avoid her he did. The first few days after his breakdown were filled with awkward glances during class and quick escapes down adjacent hallways between lessons. And for the first few days, she let him skillfully avoid her presence. Hermione needed those few days to think things over and to decide what to do next. On more than one occasion she had almost gone to Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall, needing an adult figure to help her through the mess she had gotten herself into with Draco. However, she knew the moment she confided in a teacher would be the same moment Draco would stop trusting her. It had taken her months to get him to trust her as little as he did, and she wasn't about to let that go.

So, Hermione left the matter alone, allowing Draco a few days to figure things out on his own. However, by the time Wednesday rolled around, Hermione felt she needed to step in. She needed to know if he was all right. So, at breakfast, she wrote him a short note.

_Meet me in Room 31 after class today._

_-HG_

She never received a reply, but Hermione still made sure to be in their classroom after Charms that day. If she said she would be somewhere, then she would do everything in her power to be there, no matter any doubts or suspicions swimming about in her mind.

Sighing, she dropped her bag on the ground by the door as she entered, lighting the candles with a flick of her wand. Pacing back and forth, she ran her hands through her hair, wondering and hoping that he would show up. After a few moments, she stopped pacing and grabbed her Charms text, perched herself atop the edge of the teacher's desk, and began reading. She sat there for an hour, trying to learn the various cleaning charms they would be studying next week. However, her mind kept wandering, and her eyes kept drifting to her watch. The minutes passed one-by-one, and just as Hermione slipped her text back into her bag, readying herself to leave, the door opened.

Draco slipped into the room, his face passive and calmly composed. Watching him, Hermione set her bag back on the floor and hopped back up onto the desk.

"Hey," she said, as he sat next to her.

"Hi," he said quietly, staring at his fingers.

Hermione watched as they curled and straightened repeatedly. "Are you ok?" she asked, glancing over at him.

He nodded. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked, frowning as she gently touched his arm.

Draco scooted away from her. "I'm healed. If that's what you're asking."

Hermione nodded and fell into an awkward silence, not knowing what she should say next. However, her fears were washed away when Draco spoke first.

"I'm never good enough," he whispered. "I never have been."

"Good enough for who?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Him," he said.

"Your father?"

Draco nodded. "I've never been good enough," he said, then glanced up at Hermione. "And I don't think I'll ever be."

Hermione looked at Draco as he stared back at her.

"Father has all these expectations of me," he said. "I'm supposed to have the top marks, be the best at quidditch, associate with only the students from families Father approves of. I have no say in anything. I'm tired of it."

"And that's completely understandable," she said.

"No, it's not!" he nearly shouted, pounding his fists against his legs with each word. "I'm not supposed to be feeling like this. I can't."

Hermione frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it's a weakness."

"But everyone has weaknesses, Draco," she said.

Hermione stared at Draco, and he looked away, staring at the wall to his right.

"A Malfoy can't have any weaknesses," he said bitterly. "'Emotions are weaknesses, Draco,' he once told me."

"But you're only human," Hermione said quietly.

Draco laughed humorlessly and hopped off the desk. "Right, only human," he said, turning on his heel and staring at her. "But according to Father, Malfoys are above all other humans. We can't have any weaknesses."

Draco began pacing.

"Did you know he has my entire life planned out?" he asked, pausing and staring at Hermione incredulously.

Hermione shook her head.

"He pays no mind that this is my life," he said, resuming his pacing. "All that matters is his stupid Dark Lord."

Staring at him as if he had just grown a new head, Hermione blinked a few times, trying to wrap her mind around his words. From the moment she had met Draco back in first year, he had been an exact replica of his father. Everything from the slicked back hair to the trademark sneer seemed to come from his father. And Hermione had taken that as the truth, as had nearly everybody else in the world, paying no mind that often what you see is far from what you get. Draco glanced at her and sneered.

"And don't look at me like that," he said. "Everybody looks at me like that."

"Like what?" she whispered.

"Like I'm my father," he said. "I'm not my father, and nobody seems to realize that. I'm not him, and I don't want the same things as he does."

"Then what do you want?" she whispered.

"I want to be me," he said, staring directly into Hermione's eyes. "I want my life. Not the life Father has created for me."

"And you deserve that," she said, approaching him. "Everybody deserves to live their own life."

Collapsing into one of the desks, his arm unconsciously wiping away one of their old dust drawings as he dropped his head into his hands. "I just want to be happy."

Hermione sat down in the desk beside him. "And you deserve to be happy."

"Nobody understands that," he said. "Everybody thinks I'm this big monster. They think I'm just like my father." He turned his head and glanced at Hermione. "And I have to let them believe that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a Malfoy," he said. "I'm supposed to be this person that I'm not."

"And that doesn't make you happy," she concluded.

"No," he whispered. "It doesn't."

"What would make you happy then?" she asked.

Draco rubbed his face with his hands. "If all this would just go away. If somebody would just realize that I'm not my father, and that I'm my own person. If somebody just cared for once."

"I care," Hermione said.

Draco jerked his head around to look at her, his eyes wide.

"I do," she repeated.

He blinked and stared at his perfectly polished shoes. Everything Hermione had said to him and done for him during the past few months flashed before his eyes. And in that moment, he realized there was somebody in the world who did care for him. Glancing at her, he gave her a hesitant smile, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly. "I know," he whispered. "I know you do."

They fell into a comfortable silence, Hermione staring off into space, a million thoughts running through her head while Draco rested his head on the desk, his eyes unguarded.

"Draco?" Hermione asked after several moments.

Draco looked up, his head still resting on the desk. "Yeah?"

"Can I suggest something?"

He remained silent for a few moments before answering. "I guess," he said hesitantly.

"And promise that you'll consider what I'm going to say."

Draco frowned. "Ok."

"And that you won't get angry."

This time he lifted his head, looking at her with confusion on his face. "I'll try," he said.

Hermione nodded and sighed through her nose. "I really think you should talk to someone about all this."

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" he asked.

"No, well…" she trailed off, finding her fingers suddenly very interesting. "I think you should go to one of the teachers. I think-"

"No," he said suddenly.

"They might be able to really help you."

He shook his head. "That's not an option."

"But I think…"

"Granger," he said. "No."

"Draco…"

Reaching across their desks, he grabbed her arm. "No," he said, his stare intense and slightly intimidating. "Nobody needs to know." He let go of her arm and ran his fingers through his hair. "Nobody can know."

Hermione sighed and placed her head on her desk again. "I don't see why you have to be so difficult," she said.

"Because that's just how it has to be, Granger," he bit out.

Biting her lip, she chanced him a cautious glance. "But it doesn't have to be that way," she said meekly.

Frustrated rage passed through his eyes, and Draco lunged forward, grabbing Hermione by her arms, pulling her forward. Their desks crashed together, and Hermione winced at the noise. "Listen carefully, Granger," he said deathly quiet. "I'm going to only say this once."

Gulping, she nodded.

"Nobody needs to know," he growled. "This is just between you and me."

"Ok," she whispered.

"You're not to tell anybody," he demanded.

She shook her head. "I won't."

"And that includes teachers," he said.

"I won't tell a soul," she said. "I promise."

Draco took a couple deep breaths and Hermione chanced a look at him. His face was nearly in hers, their foreheads almost touching. Anger flashed through his eyes, though she noticed fear and desperation running a current beneath the anger.

"Promise me, Granger," he said.

Hermione looked off to the side and swallowed, nodding. "I promise."

"Look me in the eye," he demanded, "and promise."

Hermione began to tremble, the half-standing position Draco had pulled her into straining her muscles. She met his eyes, their stormy depths still swirling an angry gray. "I promise," she said. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Draco searched her eyes, looking for any glimmers of dishonesty or unfaithfulness. He needed her to promise. He needed to know that he could trust her. Once satisfied that her promise was genuine, his gently let her go, his hands unconsciously sliding down her arms, and scooted his desk back to its original position. Hermione took a deep breath, the urge to cry suddenly swelling up inside her. She licked her lips, pushing the tears down. They sat in their classroom in silence for several long moments, neither daring to speak.

"Granger?" Draco asked after a few moments.

Hermione glanced up at him. "Yeah?"

"We've missed dinner," he said.

She nodded numbly and Draco stood from his desk. Her bag sat forgotten beside the teacher's desk, and he grabbed it, coming to stand beside her. Hermione looked up at him, and Draco handed her bag to her. Taking it, she threw it over her shoulder as she stood.

"Come on," he said, walking out of the classroom and Hermione followed.


	10. Forsit Per Amicitia

**Author's Note – **Hello! I'm back…not that I really went anywhere. My updates might slow down slightly. I've just started a new job working as a preschool teacher and that takes up a lot of my time. So, if you don't see an update every week, don't worry, there will be one soon. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's another long one. It's about 17 pages and over 4,000 words. I rather like this chapter. Well, most of it. I rewrote some sections of it…as I do with most of my chapters. But I'm rather pleased with it. Please review and let me know what you think.

**Another Note** – The title loosely means "The Problem with Friends," in Latin. I'm working on my Britishisms, which is hard because I've never been to Britain. All I have to work with are the HP books, HP fanfiction, and websites. If you see any large American-British discrepancies, please let me know so I know where I'm going wrong. Oh, and review and tell me what you think of this chapter. I like hearing from my readers.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with the series, no matter how much I'd love to own Draco Malfoy…but if he was up for sale, not only would I not be able to afford him, but I'd have about a million other fangirls running after him. JKR is the lucky owner.

**Enjoy and Review!

* * *

**

**Chapter Ten**

"Forsit Per Amicitia"

* * *

Hermione sat in the library Saturday afternoon, her box of S.P.E.W. buttons open in front of her. Draco sat across from her, _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms_ open, and the beginnings of an Ancient Runes essay before him. Outside, snow steadily fell, collecting on the windowsills and covering the lawns like a frozen blanket.

"I don't see why nobody cares about house-elves," she mused, sighing softly.

Draco looked up from his essay. "They're house-elves, Granger," he said.

Hermione pressed her lips together. "And they should have rights," she said.

"Yet they don't," he said, twirling his quill around his fingers as he reread a section of his essay.

"In the Muggle World, animals have rights," she said. "There are organiz…"

"I don't care about what the Muggles do," Draco said, cutting her off.

Hermione huffed loudly. "You should," she said, staring at Draco's head of white-blond hair, currently bent over a length of parchment.

"Don't tell me what I should do," he said, looking up at her, tinges of anger bordering his vibrantly gray eyes.

Hermione sighed. "But how do you think the elves feel?" she asked. "Do you think they fancy being bossed around?"

"How am I supposed to know?" he countered. "I'm not a house-elf."

"But what if you were?" she said. "How would you feel?"

"But I'm not a house-elf," he said.

"That's not my point," she half-shouted, her arms falling to her sides in exasperation.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Then what is your point?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shook her head, resting her cheek in her palm. "Forget it," she said.

He stared at her for a moment, watching as she fiddled with the box's lid. "Granger," he said after a momentary pause.

"What?" she said, looking up.

"I know you're all about helping other people and creatures," he said, "but don't you think it's a tad futile? This whole spew thing?"

"S.P.E.W.," she corrected automatically.

"Right," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Whatever."

"So, what's your point?" she asked.

"Why try to free the house-elves…or get them rights or whatever, when they obviously like working for us?" he asked.

"How do you know that they enjoy it?"

"Have you seen them?" he asked. "They practically run each other down to serve us."

"Perhaps they're all pretending that they enjoy serving us," she said.

"Granger, have you ever met a house-elf that complains?"

She shook her head.

"If they didn't enjoy serving us," he said, "then wouldn't you expect at least one to speak up?"

Hermione sighed, thinking his argument through. After a moment she shrugged. "I suppose," she said, and Draco smirked. "But it still doesn't seem right to me."

Draco raised his shoulders dismissively. "Well, do what you want," he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. "It's your time you're wasting."

"I am not wasting my time," she said, leaning forward, her brow creased.

"Whatever, Granger," he said, resting his arms back on the table. "Don't you have homework to work on?"

Hermione glowered and crossed her arms. "I finished it."

"You finished it?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Yes," she said simply.

"Even the Ancient Rune's essay?"

Smartly, she nodded. "Even that."

"When?"

"Tuesday evening," she said. Then, she smirked at Draco and sat back in her chair, "The bloke I usually hang out with happened to have gotten himself detention."

"Hey," he said, leaning forward until the back legs of his chair came off the ground. "Potter and Weasel started that." Extending his arm across the table, he pointed at Hermione. "I had no part in it."

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione sighed, not an ounce of pity to her. "Says the one who got detention."

"It's not my fault McGonagall doesn't like me," he said. "Plus, they set me up."

"They did not set you up," she said.

"They did to!"

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Did not."

Draco smirked. "Did not."

"I'm not falling for that," she said, smirking back.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever." Gathering up his materials, he haphazardly dropped them into his school bag. "I'm bored, let's go do something."

"I thought you had an essay to write," she replied, slipping her box of S.P.E.W. buttons into her bag.

Draco shrugged. "I can easily do that tomorrow," he said, standing and grabbing his bag.

Stopping, Hermione turned towards him. "Procrastination isn't a habit worth getting yourself attached to," she scolded, staring at him sternly.

"And it'll do you good not to tell me what habits I should and shouldn't get myself attached to," he said, starting to walk towards the library doors.

Hurrying to catch up to him, Hermione swung her bag over her shoulder and caught the doors with her hands as Draco exited the library. "All I'm doing is trying to help."

"I don't need help," Draco said, Hermione finally having caught up to him. He glanced at her. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm second in almost every one of my classes."

"That doesn't mean you can skive off your studies."

"I'm not," he said.

"And how do you figure that?"

"I'm simply going to do them later," he said, smirking.

Hermione huffed, pressing her lips together in frustration. "Fine," she said, and Draco, thrilled at his small victory, added a small swagger to his step. Hermione rolled her eyes. "So, where are we going?" she asked.

"Well," he said, "if you hadn't noticed, it's snow…" Cutting off mid-sentence, Draco quickly grabbed Hermione's arm, yanking her into the nearest empty classroom.

"Draco!" she shouted, and he covered her mouth with his hand.

"Quiet," he hissed, peeking out the small window in the door. "I thought I heard somebody coming. You don't want anyone finding out you're consorting with me, do you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said quietly as Draco removed his hand from her mouth.

Looking out the small window, Draco watched as a group of Hufflepuff girls giggled past. "Me neither," he said. "Merlin knows this place has enough rumors as is."

When the coast was clear, Draco poked his head out into the hallway, checking up and down the hallway for anyone else. "Ok, I think it's clear," he said, walking out into the corridor, Hermione behind him.

"So," Hermione said, "are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Oh," he said, scratching the length of his nose. "Right. Well, it's snowing outside, so I figured we'd go outside and play in it."

Hermione stopped in her tracks.

Draco, sensing her absence, turned. "What?"

"You want to play in the snow?" she asked, slightly confused.

"If I remember correctly," he said, "that is what I said."

Hermione smiled. "Draco Malfoy likes playing in the snow," she said teasingly. "I would have never guessed."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "I like a good romp in the snow just as much as the next person," he retorted. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," she said, catching up to him as they continued walking. "I'm just surprised is all."

Draco cast her a side-long glance and ran a hand through his hair. They reached the Entrance Hall and started for the doors. Halfway there, Hermione stopped, grabbing his arm to halt him in his steps. Draco looked at her questioningly.

"We need to go to our dorms and get our cloaks," she explained.

Folding his arms, Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you or are you not a witch?"

"What kind of a question is that?" she asked.

Draco smirked. "Well?" he asked, apparently ignoring her question, instead choosing to wait for her answer.

Hermione frowned, and Draco rolled his eyes, pointing his wand in the general direction of the Slytherin dorms. "_Accio_ cloak and gloves," he said smartly, smirking at Hermione as his black, velvet cloak and gloves floated into his grasp.

Rolling her eyes and internally scolding herself, she waved her wand and waited for her cloak to come to her. Swathed against the chill, Hermione and Draco crept outside and around the castle, making sure to keep out of sight of the other students already outside. Behind the school, well out of the way of the other students, a large patch of untouched snow sat between Hagrid's hut and the clearing where the dragons had been for the first task.

"I still think you should have finished your essay," Hermione said, dredging up the topic of Draco's homework again.

Rolling his eyes, he groaned. "Just let it go, Granger," he said, kneeling on the ground and packing the wet snow into a small ball.

"Your studies should always come first," she said, plopping down on her back in the snow, fanning her arms and legs back and forth.

"They do," he said, glancing at her as he began rolling the small ball around in the snow. "I just like taking a break every now and then."

Standing, Hermione studied her snow angel, tilting her head back and forth. "I'm just saying that the OWLs are next year," she said. "And it's important to be prepared."

"The OWLs?" he asked incredulously, pausing from his snowball making to gawk at her. "Those aren't until next year. You don't have to worry about them yet."

"Yes, but everything we've learned during these first few years will be tested in the OWLs," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "And as I've said, I need to be prepared. These are the first set of major wizarding tests I'm going to take, and being a muggleborn, I'm at a certain disadvantage to the rest of the-"

She was abruptly cut off as a small snowball collided with the side of her head, bits of it sticking in her hair while the rest of it dribbled down her face, soaking the collar of her cloak. Turning, her mouth open in mid-sentence, she glared at Draco, who stood a few feet away from her, a snowball in one hand and an innocent look on his face.

"Did you just throw a snowball at my head?" she seethed, enunciating every word as if it were a dagger in and of itself.

Tossing his other snowball up in the air and catching it, Draco shrugged. "It got you to shut up, didn't it?"

"You just threw a snowball," she said, stalking towards him, "at my head!"

Draco grinned, spectacularly pleased with himself. "I did, didn't I?" Crossing his arms, he smirked at her. "And what are you going to do about it?

Her eyes wide with a mischievous glint, she stooped down and grabbed a handful of snow, packing it firmly between her mittened hands. Once formed into a firm ball, Hermione cocked her arm back and hurled the ball at Draco, grinning as it hit his left shoulder. And within a matter of moments, a snowball fight had begun, snow flying between the two, quickly caking each other in globs of wet snow.

* * *

Up in the castle, in a large room filled with whirring trinkets and sleeping portraits of headmasters and mistresses of years past, Dumbledore watched the scene below with a pleasant smiled on his face. With a satisfied nod, he turned to his desk, popped a lemon drop in his mouth, and stroked Fawkes on the head. Trilling an intricate pattern of notes, the phoenix closed his eyes, nudging his head up into the Headmaster's hand.

Dumbledore smiled. "Oh, I quite agree, Fawkes," he said, tossing another candy into his mouth. "Their friendship will bring great good to the world."

* * *

Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room an hour before dinner, her clothes sporting several wet spots, and snow still speckling her damp hair. Students had begun trickling in from outside, shedding their soaked outerwear, and preparing themselves for dinner. When she entered the warmth of their common room, several students lounged either in front of the fire or in small groups scattered about the large room. Harry and Ron sat next to the fire, large mugs of hot chocolate warming their hands.

"Oi, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, twisting around to look at her. "Where've you been?"

"Outside," she said, unraveling her scarf from around her neck.

"Really?" he asked. "Because Harry and I were out there all afternoon and didn't see you."

"You didn't?" she asked. "I was around the back of the castle with some Hufflepuffs." The lie slid from her mouth with ease, and Hermione nearly flinched at the revelation.

"Oh," he said, swirling the murky remains of his drink.

"Hey, Mione?" Harry said, reaching into his back pocket. "You got an owl about ten minutes ago."

Taking the folded parchment he had given her, Hermione curiously opened it.

_Hermynee-_

_I was wondering if you would like to join me in a stroll around the lake tonight after dinner. I will be waiting in the Entrance Hall at 7 pm._

_-Viktor Krum_

"Who's it from?" Ron asked a moment later, leaning over Hermione's shoulder.

Jerking the letter out of his line of sight, Hermione scowled at him. "Stop being so nosy," she said.

Ron flopped back against the couch, his arms crossed in anger. "It's from _Vicky_ isn't it?"

Gasping, Hermione rounded on Ron. "What have I told you about calling him that?"

"I can't believe you're still talking to that thick headed git."

"It isn't any of your business who I decide to talk to," she shouted, standing up from the couch. Several of the students present in the common room turned as Hermione began to yell.

"Well, maybe I think it _is_ my business," Ron shouted back.

Giving him a moment's look, her eyes nearly shooting flames, Hermione turned on her heel and strode out of the common room and up to the dormitories, fuming the entire way. Slamming the door to the fourth year girls' dorm, Hermione growled and flopped down on her bed. Lavender, who had been sitting on her bed, flipping through a magazine, looked up at Hermione's noisy entrance.

"Everything all right, Hermione?" she asked, setting her magazine down.

"Ron is nothing but a thick-headed berk," she seethed, Viktor's note crumpling in her hand.

Lavender sat down beside Hermione. "What did he do?"

"What hasn't he done lately?" she asked, directing her gaze to the ceiling.

Smiling sympathetically, Lavender patted Hermione's shoulder. "Ron can be a bit thick can't he?"

Hermione nodded and sighed. "Sometimes I feel like he thinks he owns me," she said, a rant beginning to form in her tone of voice. "I can't do anything without his approval." She glanced at Lavender. "I decide to head to the library, he has to know. We go to Hogsmeade, he has to be by my side nearly the entire time." Hermione gestured into the air with her hands, her voice gradually growing in pitch as she vented. "I get a date to the Yule Ball, he has to know who. It's like he thinks he's my keeper. It drives me crazy."

"Well, maybe he fancies you," she suggested, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Hermione sighed, a strand of curly hair being blown out of her face. "Honestly, I used to fancy Ron," she said, sliding a glance to Lavender.

Squealing, she grabbed Hermione's hand. "You did?"

"Yeah," she said. "Then I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor, and since then, Ron's turned into an insufferable prat."

"I've noticed," she said wistfully, sending Hermione a supportive smile.

"I can't stand him anymore," Hermione said. "I don't like him anymore, and the scary things is…I don't even remember why I liked him in the first place."

Lavender nodded. "Yeah, I can see that."

Surprised, Hermione looked up. "You can?"

"Well, sure," she said. "Of course, Ron's handsome. Anybody can see that. But you," she said, pointing to Hermione, "you need somebody on your own level."

Hermione nodded, staring at the ceiling, losing herself to her own thoughts for a few moments. "And Ron's not on my own level."

"Nope," she said, glancing down at the parchment still gripped in Hermione's hand. "Hermione, what's this?" She tugged on the parchment.

"Oh," Hermione said. "It's just a note. Nothing important, really."

Grinning impishly, Lavender swiftly grabbed the parchment and read it.

"Lavender!" Sitting up, Hermione tried to grab at her note. "Give that back. It's my post."

"Oh, Hermione," Lavender breathed, looking at her with excited eyes. "You must go!"

"I…I don't think so," Hermione said, finally getting her parchment back.

"But you must," she said, hopping up on to her knees. "This is Viktor Krum we're talking about."

"Well…" Hermione trailed off, glancing at the parchment.

Smiling, Lavender suddenly grabbed Hermione's arm, dragging her off to the bathroom. "Oh come on, Hermione," she said. "Lighten up and have some fun. I've got this absolutely smashing hair charm you must try."

Sighing, Hermione relented, letting Lavender flutter about her, prattling off various hair charms they should have a go at, and make-up spells she had the most success with.

* * *

As Hermione had expected, Viktor hadn't let her down. Just as he had said, he was waiting in the Entrance Hall after dinner, a single red rose in his hand. If she had let herself, Hermione imagined she would have been swept off her feet with Viktor Krum. She had spent a lot of time over the past few months deciding for herself what she wanted in a bloke. If she was going to delve into the world of relationships, then she figured she had better have an idea of what she wanted. And from the long list of attributes she had compiled, Viktor met nearly every one. That is, except one in particular, the most important one Hermione had realized: attraction.

Viktor Krum was cordial, funny, interesting, kind, and a million other traits, but Hermione simply didn't feel anything for him. Her heart didn't swell in his presence, butterflies didn't swarm in her stomach, and her knees stayed firmly in place instead of knocking together like a pair of wobbly sticks, as she had expected.

Sighing, she wandered the halls after their walk around the lake, reluctant to return to the common room just yet. Making it to the fourth floor, Hermione entered her and Draco's classroom, knowing he would most likely be there. And he was, sitting in a desk with his Potions text open, underlining sections of the text with his quill.

"Hey," she said, sitting down across from him, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"Hey," he greeted back as he turned the page. "How was your date with Krum?"

Hermione jerked up slightly in surprise. "How'd you know about that?"

Draco smirked wryly. "Weasel was going on about it so loudly that I wouldn't be surprised if all of England knew about it."

Groaning, Hermione sighed. "He's insufferable sometimes," she said.

"Tell me something I don't already know," he said, giving her half an ear as he continued to scan the current chapter.

"He's a big-headed prat who needs to keep his nose out of other people's business. The sodding world doesn't revolve around him."

"Damn straight."

"If I want to go out with Krum," she said, and Draco glanced up at her, an indistinguishable emotion passing through his eyes before he returned to his studies, "then he should just shut it. It's none of his sodding business."

Draco hitched his eyebrows upwards and turned the page, saying nothing for the moment. Hermione sighed, her last sentence rubbing her the wrong way after coming to the realization earlier that night that she indeed felt nothing for the aforementioned young man. Why would she say she wanted to go out with a bloke she had no feelings for? The notion made absolutely no sense in Hermione's mind, and the fact that the thought in question came from her own mind startled her.

Shaking her head, she sunk one of her hands into her mop of unruly curls. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder what goes on inside his head," she said.

"Don't we all?" Draco mumbled.

Hermione ignored his comment. "He thinks he can just tell me who I can and cannot talk to," she said, and Draco nodded as his quill underlined one passage. "He isn't my mother…" Draco flinched at the visual that suddenly popped into his head. "…and he doesn't own me."

"That he doesn't," he said, banishing the image of the Weasel being Hermione's mother from his mind.

"I'm perfectly capable of deciding these things on my own. For goodness sakes," she said, "I'm at the top of my class. He should realize that I can take care of myself."

"Uh huh," he said, flipping through a few pages, stopping at one or two to underline something.

"I wish he would just leave me alone sometimes," she said, staring off to the left.

"Same here."

"I mean, seriously, he's supposed to be my best friend," she said.

"What a toerag," he replied monotonously.

"Honestly," she exclaimed, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling, "I can't do anything without him having to know about it. I want to go to the library or just for a bloody walk in the evening and he's just _got_ to know. I get a letter in the post, and what does Ron do? He tries to read it over my shoulder. No privacy with that one," she mumbled, glowering at the desktop. "And he got his bloody knickers in a twist just because I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor."

Draco nodded.

Crossing her arms, Hermione leaned on her desk. "He makes me so angry," she bit out. "Sometimes I just want to hex the thick-headed git."

"I know the feeling."

"And this all started because the prat couldn't get up the courage to ask me to the ball," she said.

"And he's supposed to be a Gryffindor." Draco smirked, a smidge of humor dancing around his eyes, and Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Resting her head on the desk, her curls fanning out on either side of her head, Hermione groaned. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Draco looked up at her last comment, the feathered end of his quill brushing against his lips. What in all bloody hell should he say to that? Was he even supposed to give her an answer? Sighing, he shook his head and decided to opt for the easiest route: casual indifference. "All finished?" he quipped politely.

She sighed deeply and nodded, her eyes glancing up at him. Draco closed his book, making sure to mark his place. Returning Hermione's stare for a brief moment, he looked off to the side and the cupboard that still contained the boggart. Why had they never gotten rid of it? Shrugging, he dismissed the thought and regarded Hermione impassively as she gazed out the window, apparently lost in her own little world of what he imagined would be books, libraries, and studying.

"Granger," he said, bringing her back to the here and now.

"What?" she asked, still gazing out the window.

"Curfew's in five minutes," he said, pointing to the clock.

She glanced at the round and most likely enchanted instrument affixed to the wall, its second hand dutifully ticking by the seconds. Nodding, she followed him out of the classroom, each parting to go their separate ways once they reached the corridor.


	11. Damno Desiderium

**Author's Note – **Welcome back! Hope everyone had an excellent week. Remember to read and review.

**Another Note – **The title loosely means "Damn Regret" in Latin. Yes, "Damn Regret" is also a song by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Check them out, they're good. Oh, and the riddle/poem/song that the golden egg sings isn't mine. Obviously, it's JKR's.

**Disclaimer** – Me no own. JKR own.

**Read, Review, and Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Eleven**

"Damno Desiderium"

* * *

Gryffindors were known for their unwavering courage just as Ravenclaws were known for their incredible intelligence and Slytherins were known for their cunning personalities. However, no matter how much courage you had, or were labeled as having, some things in life were simply difficult to begin with. Hermione, always sensitive to other's feelings, knew Viktor had far more feelings for her than she had for him. And the right thing to do, in her eyes, was to tell him the truth. Yet, telling him the truth proved to be one of the hardest things she had ever done.

"Haff you ever been to Bulgaria?" he asked her one evening as they strolled through the halls.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I haven't," she said, trying to decide when the best time would be for her to jump in and tell him how she truly felt.

"It's a vonderful place to live," he said, smiling at her. "You should come and visit this summer."

Politely, Hermione smiled. "Perhaps," she said, wringing her hands together. "I'd have to ask my parents, of course."

"Of course," he said, and then he glanced at her hands and frowned. "Are you alright Her-my-knee?"  
"What?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"Vell, you seem nervous tonight," he said.

"Oh…I'm alright," she said, pulling her hands apart and grinning up at him.

Draco passed by them as they turned a corner. Hermione sent him a small smile as he acknowledged her with a nod, their exchange barely detectable. Viktor, evidently seeing their subtle interaction, frowned at Draco as he disappeared around the corner.

"That vas Draco Malfoy, correct?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "It was," she said.

"I've heard certain…things about him," Viktor said, glancing at Hermione.

"And what things would that be?" she asked, her back stiffening and her jaw clenching.

Viktor stopped walking, turning to face Hermione instead. "Bad things, Her-my-knee," he said. "Very bad things."

"Not everything you hear is true, Viktor," she said quietly.

He crossed his arms. "I don't vant you to talk to him anymore," he said.

"Excuse me?" Raising her eyebrows, Hermione crossed her own arms over her chest and glared up at Viktor.

"You heard me," he said. "I don't vant you around him."

"And who are you to dictate what I can and can't do?" she demanded, a few strands of hair freeing themselves from her bun. They drifted down to frame her face.

"I don't vant you to get hurt," he said, looking away. "That is all."

Pressing her lips together, Hermione exhaled through her nose. "You know what, Viktor? I don't think this is working anymore."

"And vhat do you mean by that?" he asked, his brow crunching into a scowl.

"You and me," she said, gesturing between the both of them. "I don't want to see you anymore." Warily, Hermione watched him for any signs of a reaction. When he did nothing but continue to scowl, she sighed. "I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings," she said, glancing down at the ground. "But, I just don't think we share the same feelings for each other." Turning, she began walking away.

Viktor went after her, grabbing her by the arm. "Her-my-knee," he said. "Vait."

Hermione paused, her shoulders hunching as she tensed. "Let go of me," she said quietly, looking him directly in the eye.

"No," he said. "Listen to me."

"No?" Hermione twisted around, staring up at Viktor incredulously.

"No," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I just vant to protect you."

"Viktor," Hermione bit out. "I don't need protection."

"From this Malfoy boy you do," he said.

"You don't know him!" she yelled, trying to wrench her arm free.

Viktor held fast. "He vill hurt you," he said.

"Let me go," she said.

"Listen to me, Her-my-knee," he said.

"No," she said, a boiling swirl of panic beginning to form in her stomach. "Let me go."

"I don't vant you to get hurt," he said.

Hermione tried to pull free, prying at Viktor's fingers, but they simply dug deeper. "Viktor, let me go," she pleaded. "You're hurting me."

"Her-" Viktor froze as he soon found himself face-to-face with somebody else's wand.

"You are hurting her," Draco said, his darkened eyes steeling themselves as he glared at Viktor. "I would suggest you let her go."

Hermione stared at Draco with wide eyes.

Viktor looked down at Draco, his hand still holding fast to Hermione's. "And vhat are you going to do, little boy, vith your little vand?" he sneered.

"Viktor," Hermione pleaded softly. "Just let me go." Viktor ignored her.

Draco rose up to his full height, scrunching his nose and pressing his lips into a scowl. "I would suggest, _Krum,_ that you let her go," he demanded, shoving his wand further into the older boy's face until the tip touched his cheek. Viktor shied away from Draco's wand, not fancying being at the receiving end of his wand. However, he still remained, his hand wrapped firmly around Hermione's arm. "I would hate to have to use all the dark spells I've learned on you," he threatened snidely.

A battle of wills then ensued, neither boy moving from his spot. Viktor's fingers continued to mold themselves against Hermione's upper arm while Draco's wand stayed firmly jammed against Viktor's face. Hermione watched, her eyes flicking from Draco to Viktor and back again. Finally, after several tense moments, Viktor sneered nastily and removed his hand from Hermione, giving her a shove as he turned and stalked down the hallway. Draco reached out and steadied Hermione, both of them watching as Viktor disappeared from sight, identical scowls on each of their faces.

"Thank you," Hermione said, rubbing her arm.

Draco nodded tersely, glancing at Hermione. "Where were you headed?" he asked.

"Oh," she said. "Um…I suppose the library."

Turning, Draco looked back at Hermione. "Come on," he said. "I'll walk with you."

* * *

As the end of January approached and the beginning of February became visible around the proverbial corner, Hermione and Draco's minds shifted back to the Tri-Wizard Tournament. With the start of February being just a few days away, the second task was barely a few weeks away. This simple fact initiated back into action their fervent search not only for the suspect who had set Harry up, but also the nature of the next task.

"What do you think it's going to be?" Draco asked Wednesday evening while they sat at their usual table in the back of the library.

"Um, I'm not too sure," Hermione said, tapping the tip of her quill against her lip.

Draco smirked as he watched the pointed tip of her quill bounce against her lips. "You know, you're lucky there isn't any ink in your quill," he said. "Or else you'd have a mouth full of ink right now."

Conscious of her habit, she stopped. "I know," she said. "It's happened a few times already." She shrugged. "Same thing used to happen to me in the Muggle world." Draco quirked an eyebrow questioningly and Hermione continued. "Well, quills aren't used in the Muggle world…"

Draco nodded. "They use…pins right?"

"Pens," she corrected. "Pens are similar to quills in that they have ink in them, except that pens have a cartridge of ink…"

"What's that?"

"A cartridge?" He nodded. "It's a thin tube that's filled with ink. Anyways, I had this habit of chewing on the end of my pens," she said, and Draco gave her a pointed look that shifted between her and the chewed and flayed end of her quill. "Ok, ok," Hermione said, "I still have that habit. The point is that sometimes when I'd chew on the end of my pen, the cartridge would explode."

Draco stared at her disbelievingly. "It'd explode?"

"Yeah, not explode as in _kaboom_, but the ink would squirt out…"

"All over your face," he finished, grinning as if he'd just triumphed over something.

Hermione nodded as her face flushed, an inkling of embarrassment edging into her mind. "Yep," she said hesitantly, "all over my face."

Draco leaned back, his grin still plastered across his face. "You know what I'd pay for a photo of that?"

Groaning, Hermione shook her head and smiled. "I don't know," she said, and then before Draco could utter his next comment, she added, "and I don't want to know." She held up her hand, stopping Draco in his tracks, his mouth open and his eyes shinning with mischief, which quickly turned to mild contempt at his jesting being thwarted.

Across the library, among the groups of students barely visible through the stacks of books hiding Hermione and Draco from view, Viktor Krum strode in, a golden egg tucked beneath his arm. He made his way to the back of the library, a fair distance away from the pair in the corner, but still visible if one were to strain their eyes and crane their neck. Hermione did as such, a soft glare forming on her feminine features. Draco followed her gaze and a low growl emitted from the depths of his throat. They watched in unison as Viktor set the shining egg down on the table and ran his hand over its smooth surface, not daring to open it in the library.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the older boy, something in her swirling in wary spirals. Shaking the feeling off, she regarded Draco plainly. "Harry got one of those eggs from the first task," she said.

Draco nodded. "I recall," he said. "I was passing by an empty classroom the other week and heard the most awful sound…"

"Like a banshee screaming?" Hermione interjected.

"Yes," Draco said, a smidgen of annoyance oozing into his tone at being interrupted, "like a banshee. So, I opened the door and saw Diggory with his egg wide open. Most awful sound I've ever heard." Shaking his head, Draco shuddered in remembrance of the egg's scream.

Hermione shifted in her seat, adopting her usual aura of one about to engage in lecture. "Well," she began, and Draco gazed across the table at her, "it only sounds like a banshee out of water. When opened under the water, it sings a riddle."

"A riddle?"

"Yes," she said, grabbing her bag and sticking her hand in the side pocket, a folded piece of parchment appearing in her hand. "I've written it down."

Reaching across the table, Draco took the parchment and opened it, reading the neat scrawl he had come to know as Hermione's.

_Come and seek us where our voices sound._

_We cannot sing above the ground. _

_And while you're searching ponder this: _

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss. _

_An hour long you'll have to look, _

_And to recover what we took. _

_But past an hour – the prospect's black. _

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

Finished, he set the parchment down, one finger tapping the table. "The merpeople reference is obvious," he said, pointing to the first two lines of the poem.

Hermione nodded. "Right," she said, "and there's a pod of merpeople in the lake."

"So, we can probably conclude that whatever the second task is going to be, it's going to happen in the lake," Draco said.

Leaning forward, Hermione pulled the parchment towards her. "And it'll be an hour long," she said, her eyes scanning the riddle.

"But no more than that," he said, his finger pointing to the last couplet in the poem.

She nodded. "And he's going to have to find something," she said, "something that means an awful lot to him."

"And what would that be?"

Scratching her head, Hermione frowned. "I have a couple of ideas," she said, "but none of them are really concrete."

"Well," Draco said, "let's hear them."

She sighed. "I've categorized them into two categories," she said. "Living and non-living objects…" Chuckling, Draco shook his head. Feeling scorned, Hermione stopped and frowned. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, the pale strands falling immediately back into place. "You," he said.

"Me?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, you," he said. "You treat everything so clinically."

"I do not," she retorted.

"Yes, you do," he said, and then, realizing she was taking his observation totally wrong, added, "and that's not necessarily a bad thing. It just shows that you're intelligent."

Pulling back slightly, Hermione stared at him wide-eyed. "Did…did you…are you…" she trailed off, not believing her ears.

Draco returned her bewildered stare, a realization dawning on him, the realization that he had just complimented Hermione Granger. Granted, it was a rather round-a-bout way to compliment a person, but it was a compliment nonetheless. He felt deadened, his limbs turning numb. What was becoming of him? What he becoming soft? His father had always lectured him on the proper way to interact with others. Offering compliments where compliments were not needed was one of his rules. The act of doing so resulted in a soft mind and a soft resolve, and Malfoys were never soft.

Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish any thoughts of his father from his mind. It wouldn't do to ruin a day with the thoughts of his wretched excuse for a father. Rubbing his face, he reopened his eyes and stared right into the concerned face of Hermione.

"Draco?" she asked, her head tilted to the side in an expression of mixed curiosity and concern.

"What?" he said, perhaps a touch too demanding.

She sighed. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Scowling, his default mood falling into place, he crossed his arms and glowered at the girl across from him. "Yes," he said, staring off to the left.

"Are you sure?"

"What's with you and your inane questions?" he asked.

Hermione looked mildly shocked, having not seen his once typical cold persona in the past few weeks. "I was only concerned," she said. "You drifted off so quickly."

"Malfoys don't drift off," he said snarkly. "You're deranged as usual, Granger."

Leaning back in her seat, she sent him a steely gaze, which he matched with a glare of his own. They sat in silence, neither speaking for several minutes, their eyes glued to the other's eyes, a fire of fury transpiring between them.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, not half the malice that could have gone into that statement present.

Standing from his seat, Draco sneered at her. "Like you'd even care." Then, in a moment of raw anger, he swept his arm across the table, the few books and papers sitting there falling to the ground with a muffled thump. Turning, he stalked off.

Hermione watched him walk away, his arms rigidly straight, his steps forced, and a metaphorical black cloud now hanging over her head. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her bag, managing to hastily stuff her parchment into a pocket before dashing off after Draco, the vague recollection that she wouldn't have chased after him four months ago registering in her mind before being dismissed. She hurried through the stacks of books and came to a grinding halt as she realized how odd it would look for Hermione Granger to run after a fuming Draco Malfoy. So, hiding behind a book shelf, she peeked through the gaps and watched as many heads turned to watch Draco stalk out, several Hufflepuffs shifting nervously in their seats as he passed. When the library doors had slammed shut, Hermione straightened up, smoothed out her shirt, and calmly walked out from behind the shelves of books. Nobody noticed her as she made her way out of the library, a sighting of Hermione "Know It All" Granger in the library being a regular occurrence, after all.

Pushing through the doors, she managed to catch a glimpse of the angry Slytherin turning down the adjacent hallway and jogged to catch up to him.

"Draco," she called after him.

He quickened his pace, part of him relishing in the way his robes billowed around his legs in a menacing way. Hermione continued to shout after him, but he just kept walking, not wanting to talk to her at the moment. However, her persistence caught up to him, and he found himself spun around, a curly-haired Gryffindor panting before him.

"Will you just calm down?" she said.

"And why would I calm down?" he asked, ripping his arm from her grasp, rubbing his arm where a flash of tingles had erupted.

"You're all in a rage," she said, "and I don't know why."

"Maybe you're not supposed to know why," he sneered.

Hermione frowned. "What is the matter with you?"

Opening his mouth to speak, he quickly shifted gears and instead grabbed her arm and dragged her into an empty classroom. Slamming the door, he dropped her arm with an expression of disgust, which Hermione found herself flinching at.

"You want to know what the matter is?" he nearly shouted, pacing back and forth, his feet kicking the legs of the desks.

"Yes?" she half asked, half answered.

"My problem," he said, coming to stop before her, his face crowding into hers, "my problem is you."

Instantly, her stomach felt as if someone had just ripped it from her belly. She felt sick, and that feeling in itself made her feel even sicker. When had Draco Malfoy's opinion of her mattered? Draco panted through his nose, his eyes big and angry. Hermione stared at him. "Me?" she asked meekly.

"Yes you," he said, and he began pacing back and forth. "You've made me soft."

"Made you soft?" she asked, trying to piece together exactly what was going on.

"Are you deaf?" he shouted, rounding on her again. Hermione eased herself away from him, but Draco grabbed her arms. "It's you. It's always been you."

She shook her head, his statement not making sense. "What?"

"You just had to waltz into my life," he accused, "didn't you?"

"Um…"

"Malfoys aren't supposed to be soft," he said. "We're supposed to be hard and cold creatures of torture and cruelty." His mind began reeling off everything his father had ever said to him about the nature of a Malfoy. "Never is a Malfoy supposed to get attached. Never is a Malfoy supposed to put emotions into something."

He cursed himself inwardly. Why had he allowed himself to get attached to her? His father would find out; he always did. Draco couldn't let that happen. Why? His eyes dimmed as he refused to answer that question, though the answer poked and prodded at the edges of his mind, brief glimpses and recollections sending shivers down his spine. He knew perfectly well why he couldn't let that happen.

"Draco…what…" Hermione paused, her mouth gaped open like a fish.

"You…you need to stay away from me," he said, backing away from her. Heading for the door, he turned just before he left and sneered at her. "You're foolish, you know that? A Malfoy would never associate with a worthless _Mudblood_."

The word sailed out of his mouth without his mind first deeming if it were wise or not as he walked out of the room. And as he stalked down the corridor, sneering and cursing at the students that he happened to run into, the deeply hurt look on Hermione's face kept revolving through his mind. Her eyes seemed to stand out in his head, the way the brown orbs seemed to loose their fighting spark as the slur came from his mouth. That observation startled him just as her hurt face had twisted his stomach. And just as the simple thought had caught him unawares, another realization formed in his mind, a realization he surely wasn't ready for, a realization that nearly froze him to the stone pavings he walked on. He needed Hermione Granger just as much as he thought he didn't need her at the moment. She was all he had, and that thought stirred something deep within himself, something no Malfoy should ever feel. Regret.


	12. Ut Egeo Praesto Desiderium

**Author's Note – **Hi. I know, this is about a week late. I've been sick and haven't felt like writing much. I hope you enjoy this chapter and make sure to review when you reach the end. This chapter is the longest one yet at 19 pages and about 5,200 words.

**Another Note – **The title loosely means "When Want Surpasses Need" in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own anything associated with Harry Potter.

**Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Twelve**

"Ut Egeo Praesto Desiderium"

* * *

Days passed and turmoil began to brew among the students of Hogwarts, the second task nearing as each day came to a close. The rumors began to fly as they did with the first task, the corridors of Hogwarts once again filled with murmurs and whispers of a much more hushed and controversial matter than typically heard. While turmoil surged and whispers silenced the hallways, where two individuals were concerned, a much deeper set tension had formed. Hermione and Draco were not talking; or rather, Hermione refused to give Draco the time of day while Draco drifted throughout the school not sure whether he cared either way.

Monday morning, a week and a half before the second task was scheduled to occur, the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered out in the cold mist surrounding Hagrid's hut that February day. Students shivered, breaths puffed into nearly opaque clouds before dispersing, and weak rays of sun barely managed to illuminate the grounds.

Hermione stood between Harry and Ron, tuning out their quidditch blabber as she did everyday. While she was wrapped in her warmest cloak, her insides seemed to quiver as the chill passed through the thick material as if it were made of gauze. Arms wrapped around herself in a meager attempt to stay warm, she stared off into space. When Draco Malfoy entered the small paddock, flanked by Blaise and a myriad of other Slytherins, she watched as he swaggered towards the grouping of students, his trademark smirk plastered upon his face.

Beside her, Ron grumbled as he too saw Draco's entrance. "Bloody Malfoy," he muttered, glowering at the Slytherin.

Harry agreed with Ron, and their usual back and forth game of _Who Can Insult Malfoy The Most_ commenced. Hermione ignored them, her attention too focused on the blond boy and what had transpired the other week. Her heart panged as she remembered the malice that had inhabited his voice when he called her a Mudblood, and she scolded herself and the bloody muscle that forever beat within her chest.

She was a fool; that was simple. Draco Malfoy was and will always be a cruel and conniving monster. How had she been pulled in by him? Why had she entrusted him with her emotions? Never trust a Malfoy; anybody in the world would be smart enough to know that. Malfoys were dishonorable and untrustworthy, and she had learned her lesson. Never against would she trust Draco Malfoy.

Glowering, she sneered in his general direction as Hagrid exited his hut, bundled up to his neck in a fur cloak.

* * *

Draco stood among his Slytherin peers as the oaf he was forced to address as a professor arrived. Blaise stood next to him, her usual leers and slanderous comments towards the half-giant professor coursing through her lips as if it were a stream of water.

"Honestly, the stupid oaf belongs in one of those Muggle zoos," she said as Hagrid lead them around the back of his hut and along a path through the forest.

Draco smirked, finding he had to force the action more than he usually did. "And everybody would gawk at him," he said, "because, really, a creature like him deserves to be gawked at."

Blaise laughed. "Seriously, look at the bush he calls a beard. What sort of vermin do you think live in there?"

"Fleas," Draco said with a smirk, "and probably lice."

"Ugh," Blaise said as they arrived in a small clearing, an assortment of caged creatures spaced out around the edge.

Both quieted down as Hagrid began to speak, Draco not bothering to listen. Hermione stood across the way, the wind blowing her brown hair into knots and tangles that he could spot from where he stood. Blinking once, Draco shook his head, throwing any thoughts of the brown-haired girl from his mind. It wouldn't do him any good to dwell on the buck-toothed Mudblood. As the thought crossed his mind, a cold sweep of emotion seeped into his skin, soaking his spine and freezing his brain. Sighing, Draco shifted on his feet.

"Draco?"

Blinking again, Draco stared at a spot to the left of his polished shoes. Why couldn't he get her out of his mind?

"Um…Draco?"

However, even as the question formulated in his brain, the answer poked at his resolve. Regret. Easy as that.

"DRACO!"

Jumping as Blaise smacked him in the back of the head, he spun around, wand out, and sent her one of his coldest glares, his eyes frosting over.

"What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you?" Blaise demanded. "And point that elsewhere." She batted the tip of his wand away as if it were an annoying insect.

Draco frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, his wand still pointing in Blaise's general direction, decidedly looking away from her. "There is nothing wrong with me," he said as if it were a cemented fact. "And it would do you good to keep your sodding mouth shut."

"You know," she began, "you may think you're fooling everybody…but you're not fooling me. You, Draco Malfoy, are as transparent as the air in which we breathe."

Growling, he tightened his grasp on his wand. Blaise watched with not an ounce of fear in her eyes as her own hand gravitated to her wand. The Slytherins surrounding them watched them with a certain degree of hidden apprehension, each and every one of them knowing to which extents Draco and Blaise's fights have reached. The two were notorious for arguments and rows that escalated to hexes and curses. And respectfully, for no Slytherin would admit they would do something out of fear, they edged away from the pair.

As the bitter remarks grew in volume, not only the Slytherins watched as the Gryffindors stopped feeding which ever creature Hagid had given them that week and adjusted their gaze to the two engaged in a rapidly heated fight across the clearing. Hermione straightened up, a few pellets of food in her hand, and watched as Draco thrust his wand towards Blaise at the exact same time Blaise pointed hers at Draco. Her eyes followed the argument, her exterior personifying her indifference and slight pleasure, while her insides swam with worry. And it was this sensation and caused her to remove her eyes in consternation as the first hex was cast.

* * *

The rest of the week passed in similar regards as both Hermione and Draco struggled with the emotions and truths that plagued their minds. They needed each other, one more than the other, and because of past actions, neither wanted to admit that. Hermione went about her days as if nothing were wrong. Classes, studying, essay writing, and library pursuits were what filled her days, as every student at Hogwarts would expect.

And expect that they did Saturday morning as those few students who chose to spend their time in the library found her studying away in one of the back corners of the library, her bushy head nearly obscured by stacks of books piled up on her table.

Hermione scribbled ream after ream of notes, one hand clutching the quill while her other turned the pages at a steady rate. Her attention remained glued to the enormous book on the theory behind complicated transfigurations, and her quill never strayed from the scroll of parchment before her. That is, until Draco Malfoy wandered into the library. Eyes flicked to his form as he sunk into a chair at a vacant table not too far from Hermione's, many students having heard of his and Blaise's row earlier that week that had landed them both in the infirmary. They had remained wary of him, his leers and taunts having been exceptionally cruel this past week.

However, as nature permitted, their interest in the blond boy disappeared as the importance of their homework took priority. Only one person in the entire library kept her eyes on Draco, the brownness of their depths wavering with caution and anxiety. Hermione's opinions of Draco that had surfaced the Monday before had not changed. He still was the arrogant and self-absorbed Slytherin that had tormented her throughout her years at Hogwarts. Nothing had changed. What had caused her to sway from her opinion, Hermione did not know; however, she promised herself that she would never let Draco Malfoy take control of her emotions again.

Draco sank further into the hard-backed library chair, his silver eyes sending threats to the students still gawking at him. Crossing his arms, he once again questioned himself as to why he was in the library when Blaise and a handful of Slytherins had decided to search out a group of Hufflepuffs to torment. Yet, by some unforeseen force of nature, he had ended up in the library instead of stalking the halls of Hogwarts, something he would have much rather done.

The library buzzed with silence, the absence of noise almost deafening to his ears. He needed a distraction, something he had realized he had come to need often in the past several days. Granger seemed to hang around the fringes of his mind like an old cobweb, and it drove him mad. He needed to forget her, put her pathetic excuse of an existence into the back of his mind, where it had been in the first place. Draco didn't need her, and he didn't need anybody to tell him that. Malfoys didn't need anybody in life, only the occasional victim to torture.

Like a jolt of lightening, his train of thought came to a crashing halt, his brain beginning to switch over to hyperdrive as he became aware of who his eyes were transfixed upon. Damn Granger, he cursed to himself. Ripping his eyes away from her, he growled, shoving a stray book that had been on his table to the ground. The resulting thud of the thick tomb on the floor resounded through the silence of the library. Students jumped and sent Draco glares and wide-eyed stares. In retaliation, he returned their glares, turning up the heat to those who regarded him like fearful deer in a forest. Once order restored itself in the library, Draco ignoring Madam Pince's annoying throat clearings, he returned to his glowering and pouting.

Hermione watched Draco out of the corner of her eye, a deep set pool of hate bubbling within her stomach. Why did he have to disrupt everything everywhere he went? He always had to create trouble. Shaking her head, she returned to her book, the words pulling her in, and the information serving as a long awaited dose of an addictive drug.

And as the afternoon wore on, Hermione focused on her schoolwork, all thoughts of Draco pushed out of her mind, as facts and theories took up residence. All the while, Draco fumed in the library chair just a few tables away from the girl he wished he'd never befriended.

* * *

Hermione hated herself, she realized Wednesday morning as the grains of sleep fell from her mind. How could she have forgotten Harry and the second task? Forgetfulness and neglect simply weren't in her personality, and she wondered where she had gone wrong. Yet, just as that question entered her mind, the answer presented itself as a memory of a certain blond Slytherin yelling at her and calling her a Mudblood. Shaking her head, she hauled herself out of bed, quickly dressed, and headed on down to the Great Hall for breakfast before following the masses of people outside to watch the second task.

However, just as she hopped off of a staircase that was bent on switching itself as she arrived on the first floor, Professor Dumbledore stopped her.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger," he said, walking towards her, his deep purple robes brushing against the stone floor, "if I may have a few words with you in my office."

* * *

Draco sat at the Slytherin table, picking at a lemon-poppyseed muffin as Blaise rattled off next to him about the students she had tormented the previous day. He half-listened as she dove into an account of the leers and hexes she had thrown, and he offered her a nod of his head as she revealed the nature of their injuries that had earned them an overnight stay in the hospital wing. Then, Draco humored her by suggesting his own series of hexes and jinxes he fancied using on a day-to-day basis.

However, his apparent interest in Blaise's discussion only ran skindeep; for beneath the snickering, he wasn't interested at all in planning an ambush on the Gryffindors that afternoon. And as he popped a chunk of muffin into his mouth, he pondered the reasoning behind his apparent lack of enthusiasm when pranking and cruelty came into question. Then, he shook his head, watching as Potter and Weasel wandered into the Great Hall, a tiny section of his brain sending off an alarm when Granger wasn't spotted with him. However, he easily silenced the wailing of that siren for he reminded himself, as he did several times a day, that he didn't need a sodding Mudblood; he could function on his own, as all Malfoys did.

The post arrived at precisely the same time a large group of students appeared in the Great Hall, almost as if the timing of the owls coincided with the timing of the majority of students arriving in the hall. Draco shrugged the thought off as a black owl settled itself next to his plate, a letter in its mouth. He took the folded sheet of parchment, turned it over to open it, and froze.

The seal of the Malfoy family always was created using black wax, an elaborately designed M intertwining with a snake: the exact replica of the seal glueing the letter shut. Draco regarded the letter warily and hesitantly slid his finger under the parchment flap, breaking the seal and opening the letter.

_Dear Draco,_

_It found me most unpleased to hear from your Head of House that your grades have been slipping. A Malfoy strives for honor in all instances possible, grades included. You have dishonored the Malfoy name and brought disgrace to this family. As expected, you are to bring your marks up by the end of the term. If you are unable to do so, the consequences will be dire. I will keep in touch with both you and your Head of House, and I expect only words of progress._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_P.S. I am taking time out of my busy day to come speak with you on Saturday. Be ready at 8 am sharp._

"Draco?" Blaise asked beside him. "What did your father want?"

Crumpling the letter, Draco cursed himself. Then, with a quick glance up to the Head Table, and a glare directed towards an oblivious Severus Snape, Draco cursed his Head of House.

"Nothing," he mumbled, grabbing his school bag.

"Where are you going," she asked, grabbing her things as Draco began quickly walking away.

"Nowhere," he said, turning to face her, "and don't follow me."

Blaise frowned. "Jeez, you don't have to be such a bloody prat about everything!"

Drawing his wand, Draco glared at her as the entire student body in the Great Hall turned their eyes towards Draco and Blaise. "I dare you to say that again," he threatened.

Holding her hands up, Blaise shook her head. "Ok, ok," she said, sitting back down. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

With one last sneer to his friend, or rather ally, Draco stalked out of the Great Hall, his father's letter crumpled in his hand. Once he reached the Entrance Hall, he let the cold demeanor he had cast upon himself fall as the true realizations of what his father's letter meant settled in.

Yes, his grades had been falling, little by little. Draco found it hard to focus on schoolwork, everything in his life pushing against him, seemingly wanting him to implode in on himself. He wanted to blame Granger, as he wanted to blame her for everything, but he knew the drop in his marks was solely his problem. The blame only went upon himself for this one. Yet, a small part of him settled some of the blame on Professor Snape, for surely his Head of House didn't have to tell his father that his marks in Potions had dropped drastically over the past few months.

Brooding, Draco wandered aimlessly throughout the corridors. Having convinced himself that his paths were purely random, he failed to realize that his true intentions were to find Granger. And as this tiny fact made itself known in Draco's mind, the realization that he had feared for the past week or two came into the truths of simply being. He needed her in that moment when he wished he didn't need anybody in the entire world. Draco wished he could be a solitary being, never needing to depend on another person for as long as he lived. However, the tugging and churning in his stomach interacted with the coldness that his father's words had left on him, and he found himself heading towards all the usual places he knew she would frequent.

* * *

As the second task began, Draco paced the halls of Hogwarts, not finding Granger in any of the places he knew she would be. If she wasn't in the Great Hall, the library or their classroom, then where could she be? The obvious answer would be the lake watching the second task, but something in Draco told himself if she hadn't been at breakfast then she wouldn't be at the second task. However, he took a chance and humored his irrational side of his personality, checking the lake anyways, only to find nearly every student at Hogwarts present except Granger.

Aggrivated and slightly put-out, he made his way back to the castle, the cheering from the lake echoing in his ears. Sighing, starting to feel distraught, Draco found himself heading towards the fourth floor, figuring if he couldn't find Granger, then spending the day by himself seemed the next best thing.

Draco perched himself upon the wide window ledge once he entered the empty classroom. From his viewpoint, he could see the lake and the second task coming to a close, sodden heads emerging on the surface of the lake and spectators jumping up and down, cheering for those exiting the water. Looking away, he rested his head against the wall. Never had he felt this lost before: all the problems that his life had picked up, and no one there to reassure him that everything would turn out alright. And that was what he needed at that moment. Draco was scared, though he would never admit that to anyone. He was scared of his father and what Saturday would bring. As those raw emotions began swirling in the murky depression already present in his stomach, Draco's thought process branched off, revisiting topics he had dwelled upon more times than he cared to think about over the past several months. However, he seemed to have no control over his thoughts as they ran their course, despite his protests.

He felt divided, no longer knowing who he truly was anymore. All his life, his father had drilled into him the sort of person he should be. And he had taken that as the truth at such an early age that Draco didn't know how to be anybody other than the monster his father wanted him to be. To be anything other than that which he was expected to be would be blasphemy in his father's eyes. And no matter how much he despised and hated his father, he knew there could be no other choice. Fear did a lot to a person. Not only did it break someone down, but it forced obedience upon a person in the worst way imaginable. Draco had no choice when it came to being who he wanted to be. Either he became who his father wanted him to become, or he wouldn't become anyone at all.

Yet, Hermione had showed him another part of life that he had always been aware of, but never thought he'd experience in his life. She showed him hope and happiness. Being around her allowed Draco to see the light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dimly it shone. With her, the light existed, and that was all that mattered. The small glimpse of the life he wanted, or the life he could build, seemed to stick to him like glue. It only took a miniscule contact with it before it seemed to stay with him. He couldn't just forget that. This he realized, and that scared him. Draco saw something he wanted, something he knew he couldn't have, but something he needed so badly he imagined he would kill for it.

Sighing, Draco shifted upon the wide window sill in the classroom. Part of him wished she would walk through the door, her bag, heavy with books, slung over her shoulder, and a bright smile on her face. Yet again, another part of him wished she would never walk through the door. And he knew she wouldn't walk through that door. She hated him, he knew this. Being her friend wouldn't take persistence or determination, it would take a miracle. Yet, Draco wasn't even sure if he wanted to be her friend; although, he somehow knew he needed to be her friend. The trouble he was sure he would go through to simply be her friend seemed almost too much.

He was tired. Scoffing, Draco shook his head. Tired, at fourteen. Hanging his head, he closed his eyes, pushing down the bulge of self-pity that had begun to swell up within himself. Malfoys were never supposed to feel self-pity, or any pity at all as a matter of fact. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his forehead upon them, turning his face until he stared out the window, several locks of his hair falling in his eyes. He didn't bother brushing them away.

Draco watched as clouds shifted and swirled in the windy sky, the grayness seemingly matching his current state of mind. And as the sorrow seeped into his pores, the despair and melancholy that had threatened to take over his life crashed down upon him. His chest tightened, as if someone had sat down upon him, as a too-big bulge formed in his throat, a dull pain forming and traveling up his head, pounding upon his brain. Hugging his knees, Draco held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of anything but the dreary state his life existed in. However, his efforts to control his emotions failed, as they had that day after the Winter Holidays, and tears began falling from his eyes.

The door opened to the classroom, shutting quietly, and Draco continued to stare out the window, tear after tear falling from his eyelashes, as feet shuffled around for a moment and then paused.

"What are you doing in here?" Hermione demanded.

Draco stayed silent, choosing not to answer for he was sure if he spoke his voice would betray the emotions he feared would kill him.

Hermione glared at him, wishing she could hex him for simply existing. She figured her day couldn't get any worse. First, Viktor bloody Krum just had to choose her for the second task, his thought process behind the choice rubbing against her growing dislike for the young man. She certainly hadn't wanted to spend a morning under water. Then this. All she wanted was to spend time alone, to forget the morning, to banish all thoughts of Viktor Krum from her mind. But, no, Draco Malfoy had to screw that up, just as he screwed everything else up in her life.

Huffing in annoyance, she folded her arms and glared at him. "You're insufferable. You know that?"

Wiping his face with one hand, he silently agreed with her. Lead filled his aching stomach, and he wished she would just go away.

Hermione strode towards him, her shoes pounding upon the stone floor. "You can't even answer me," she said, barely a meter away from Draco. "You're pathetic, an absolute disgrace to wizard-kind, not to mention humankind." She waited for him to answer, to say anything. However, he just sat there, taking in her words as if they were words written within a book. Shaking her head, she turned and started for the door. "I was right about you," she said, reaching the door.

Draco looked up at those words and stared at her. He held her eyes for several moments. "I know," he said quietly, his voice croaking at the very end.

Hermione stared at him, one hand on the door handle. "What is wrong with you," she said. "Because, honestly, I'd like to know." Taking her hand off of the doorknob, she took a few steps towards him. "I never know what to expect from you."

Sighing, Draco looked away from her. "I…I can't…" he tried to say, but words sliped from his grasp as if they were water.

Sighing, Hermione stared at the ceiling and ran a hand through her damp hair. Her anger still raged within herself, but she recognized the signs of someone in distress. By sheer force of will, she returned her gaze to Draco, approaching him. He watched her approach out of the corner of his eye. Reaching the window, Hermione perched herself on top of it beside Draco.

"You really need to understand something," she said. Looking down at her hands, Hermione continued, "It's obvious that you need somebody. However, if I'm going to be that person, you have to realize that the things you say to me affect me."

Shamefully, Draco glanced away, his Mudblood comment revolving in his mind. He never meant that comment with malice, only with aggravated realization of the direction his life was headed in, and of course, a heaping dose of fear.

"I'm willing to be your friend," she said. "Everybody needs a friend in this world."

Draco stared at her, resting his chin on his knees.

"But friends don't treat each other like that," she said.

Hermione paused, and watched him, waiting for an answer.

Draco opened his mouth and tried to force words out. "I…I know that," he said.

"Then why did you call me a…a…Mudblood?" she asked, having trouble saying the word herself.

Draco looked away. "I'm not sure," he lied.

"Don't lie," she said. "It'll get you nowhere."

Sighing, Draco looked at his knees. He felt pressure build in his chest, Hermione's eyes bearing into him. Words stuck to his throat like bees to honey.

"Answer me," she demanded softly.

"I…" he started, glancing at her warily. "I…was scared."

"Of what?"

Draco blew a soft puff of air out of his mouth. "What do you think?" he asked, really not wanting to have this conversation.

Hermione leveled her gaze. "I'm not sure what to think when it comes to you," she said.

Draco looked away and swallowed hard. "I'm not sure either," he said.

Frowning, Hermione scooted closer to him. "What do you mean?"

Closing his eyes, he sighed. Then, like a dam breaking, the words just flowed from his mouth. "Everything is so screwed up," he said, staring at the far wall. "I don't know who I am nor do I know who I'm supposed to be. My father wants me to be a certain person, but that's the last thing I want. I hate my life, and I hate who I've become. I wish I could just start over. I wish I could have a new life," he said, glancing at Hermione, his eyes wide. "Have…have you ever wanted to just…stop?"

Hermione frowned, a sick sensation coating her stomach. "What do you mean?" she fearfully asked.

Draco sighed. "I just…I'm…I'm tired. I'm tired of this life."

"Draco, don't say that," Hermione whispered.

"Why not?" he asked, staring at her intently. "It's how I feel."

"That's not the answer," she said.

"Then what is?"

Her brow crinkled and she swallowed. "I'm not sure, but that isn't it."

Draco looked away. "I don't know what else to do," he said sadly.

"You just need to live your life the way you want to," she said.

"But you don't understand," he said. "I can't do that. My father won't let me."

"Draco," she said, and he looked up. "Don't let him."

Simply put, it would be easy. However, Hermione didn't truly know Lucius Malfoy and the ways he could get Draco to behave. Draco shuddered at the memories surrounding that thought.

"It'll be too hard," he said, starting to search for excuses, finding far too few.

"Nothing in life is easy," Hermione told him.

Sighing, Draco turned and let his legs dangle off the edge of the window ledge. Shoulders hunched, he stared at his hands and the crumpled parchment encased in his fingers.

"But he already has ways to control me," he said, opening his fingers, revealing the parchment.

"How?"

Draco handed her the parchment. Taking it, Hermione quickly read it over, her face paling as she reached the end. Folding it into a neat square, she set it on the ledge between them.

She opened her mouth, her voice straining for words. "Draco, you…you need to tell someone."

Draco shook his head. "We've already been over this, Granger. Nobody can know."

"But this is about your own safety."

"My safety," he said, laughing harshly. "Nobody would give a hippogriff's arse about my safety."

Hermione grabbed his arm, tugging on it. "Draco," she said as he glanced at her, his eyes sorrowfull and lacking their usual glint. "Draco, people would care. Trust me."

He returned his gaze to his hands. "If people do care about me, Granger, then tell me…" He looked up at her. "Who does?"

Hermione stared him directly in the eye. "I do," she said with confidence. "And I'm sure…no, positive that Professor Dumbledore will care."

Draco snorted. "Dumbledore?"

She nodded. "He could help you."

"No he can't."

"Why?"

"Because nobody can help me."

Hopping down off the window ledge, Draco walked out of the room. Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, trying to push down the strong emotions welling up inside of her, threatening to bring tears to her eyes. Staring at the ceiling, her eyes welled with unshed tears.

"What do I do?" she asked nobody in particular, her voice desperate and her heart throbbing painfully in her chest.

Then, her fingers brushed up against a folded piece of parchment. Looking down, she realized exactly what she would have to do. And she knew beyond reason that Draco wouldn't like it.


	13. Quam Servo Vita

**Author's Note – **Welcome back! Well, what do you know…it only took me a week to update. Aren't you lucky? Any errors or typos you find in this chapter I do not own and I will pretend that they don't exist. This is another long one clocking in at 19 pages and over 4,000 words. Remember, after you read, please review. Reviews are a writer's fuel. Oh! Summer break is in 3 ½ weeks!!! Who's excited? I'm excited.

**Another Note – **The title loosely means "How to Save a Life," in Latin. Yes, that's a song by The Fray, and I was listening to that song while writing this and thought that it fit perfectly.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own anything…yet…(devilish smirk). Ok ok…I don't own Harry Potter. However, when something comes up and I do own, I'll be sure to let you know.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Quam Servo Vita"

* * *

Hermione sat in Professor McGonagall's office, her right foot tapping incessantly as her stomach performed nauseating acts of gravity defying spins. A stack of second-year essays sat at the corner of the desk, a pot of red ink situated atop the disarrayed stack of parchments. Hermione craned her neck, taking a glance at the essays. Finding them of equal interest as a bucket of rocks, she sighed and clasped her hands together, twiddling her thumbs as she waited for her Head of House.

Nervous jitters shot throughout her body, bouncing up and down her spine. On some level, she knew she shouldn't be doing this. Draco would be livid. However, the facts were as plain and as clear to her as a glass of water. Draco was in danger, and when one of her friends was in danger, she did everything in her power to protect them. But she knew when Draco found out what she did, and he most definitely would, there would be hell to pay.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said as she stepped out of her office and sat down at her desk across from Hermione. "Sorry for the delay."

"It's ok, Professor," Hermione said, fidgeting in her seat and staring off to the right.

Professor McGonagall watched as Hermione twisted the fabric of her skirt. "In matter such as these," she said factually, "it is best to start at the beginning."

Hermione nodded and licked her lips. The letter from Draco's father appeared in her hand as she reached for it from her pocket. Setting it upon the desk, she gave Professor McGonagall a brief glance. Taking up the crumpled parchment, the professor gave it a quick read-over.

Finished, Professor McGonagall removed her glasses and regarded Hermione. "I don't see why this letter is causing you distress."

"He…he…Draco needs help," she said, stumbling over the words she wished she could immediately take back.

She frowned. "I still don't understand," she said, setting the letter down as she moved a stack of essays out of the way.

Hermione stared at a scratch in the desk. "We…well, we've sort of become…friends."

"Friends?" The professor's eyebrows rose to a considerable height, nearly disappearing into her hairline.

"Yes."

"With Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded.

Professor McGonagall frowned and leaned towards the curly-haired girl. "Miss Granger," she began, giving the girl a serious look. "I still don't understand. Why Mr. Malfoy?"

Staring at her professor plainly, Hermione answered, "Everybody needs a friend, Professor."

Professor McGonagall cinched her eyebrows together. "And you find this friend in him? What about Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley?"

"No," Hermione said quietly, scratching her ear. "He's the one who finds that friend in me."

The professor stared at Hermione for several long moments, not saying a single word. Under her professor's intense stare, Hermione shifted in her seat. Many concerning the nature of her actions ran through her head. She really shouldn't be doing this. Draco would never forgive her, never in a million years. Knowing this, she asked herself why, if she already knew Draco's eventual reaction, would she put herself through the trouble in the first place? And she knew the answer. A life was in danger, a life that had grown on her, a life she valued, a life she had come to care about.

Professor McGonagall continued to study the girl sitting across from her. And Hermione watched as the professor stared at her, her glasses perched upon the tip of her nose. Fine clouds of annoyance rose in her stomach, and she waited, waited for the woman to say something, anything. And when nothing came from the professor's mouth, anger surged through her. Didn't Professor McGonagall understand that Draco's life was in danger? Didn't she care? Sucking in a breath of air, she forced it out and glared at the professor, something she'd never do under normal circumstances.

"He is in danger," she said. "Don't you understand that?"

Professor McGonagall calmly regarded Hermione. "It is not against school rules for a parent to come visit a student, Miss Granger."

Hermione clenched her jaw. "But you don't know his father."

"And you do?"

She halted for a split second. "Not formally, no…but I know enough."

"Miss Granger, I'm glad the house unity is sinking in, but there is nothing I can do."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "But…" Her breath hitched in her throat. "But he is in trouble." Her eyes shot open, fury riding upon the depths of her emotions. "Don't you care? A student is in danger. Don't you even care?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "The only evidence I have is this letter," she said, placing a hand on the parchment, "and this is only circumstantial evidence. I can't do anything without concrete evidence."

"That is sodding rubbish!" Hermione demanded, her eyes flashing wildly.

"Miss Granger! I would have never expected that from you. Five points from Gryffindor for your choice of words," Professor McGonagall said, her eyes wide and her glasses riding on the tip of her nose.

Hermione had enough resolve to apologize. "Sorry, Professor," she said. "But you just don't understand."

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. "If you would explain, then perhaps I would understand."

"His father…"

"Yes?"

"His father…he…he…" Hermione took a deep breath, knowing the next moment would create a rift between her and Draco. "He…he hits him. Draco's father hits him."

Like a wave, a solumn expression passed over Professor McGonagall's eyes. "That is a very serious accusation that you're making."

Hermione nodded. "I know, but it's true."

"Have you actually seen his father hit him?"

She shook her head. "No, but I've seen the bruises."

The professor nodded. "And how do you know they were inflicted by his father?"

"He told me," she said, staring at her lap. "Professor…" Hermione glanced up at the woman. "Draco is in trouble. He's not ok. He really needs help." Pressing her lips together, she forced the tears that had arisen back, knowing crying wouldn't do her any good expect possibly embarrassing herself.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "I see, Miss Granger," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I will."

Hermione smiled softly. "Thank you," she said. "You don't know how much this means to me. It may be hard to believe, but he…he does mean a lot to me."

Professor McGonagall smiled warmly. "I can see that."

Hermione nodded, walking to the door. Halfway there, she turned. "Professor? What happens now?"

"I will speak with the Headmaster and an investigation will take place."

Nodding, Hermione turned and exited the classroom. As she walked, a weight lifted from her shoulders. However, as that burden was removed, another one was put in its place. For surely, she surmised, Draco would now hate her.

* * *

That evening, Professor McGonagall stood before the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Stating the password, she entered the staircase, letting it guide her upwards. With a short, quick knock upon the thick, wooden door, she stepped into the ornate room.

"Albus," she said. "We have a serious matter to discuss."

* * *

As the days progressed through their usual course, from one to the next, Hermione waited for the outburst she knew would be coming from Draco. And come it did, Friday evening as she made her way out of the library, her arms full of books.

"We need to talk," Draco said, striding over to her, grabbing her arm, and dragging her out of the library.

Surprised, Hermione dropped the books, Madam Pince sending the pair a grievous look. As she was forcefully removed from the library, Hermione stared at Draco's eerily calm face, the shouts of the students in the library and the books left behind barely registering in her mind. All Hermione saw was the profile of Draco's face, his eyes set to stone, staring forward in determination. His tense shoulders and his striding footsteps matched the angry aura she felt surrounding him.

And suddenly, telling her Head of House no longer felt like it had been the smart thing to do. Of course, alerting a professor to the danger Draco was in had been the correct action, his life and wellbeing in jeopardy; however, currently faced with an enraged Draco Malfoy made her stomach clench and her throat clog up with what felt like cotton balls.

Draco held her by her arm, his fingers tightly wrapped around the appendage, creating indents in the flesh. The burning and boiling rage that brewed beneath the calm exterior he portrayed barely managed to stay concealed as he stormed through the hallways, Hermione running to keep up with him. Ripping open the door to an empty classroom, he threw her inside, slamming the door behind them. Hermione jumped at the sound.

"You told!" he accused once the door was shut.

Hermione shifted on her feet. "I had to," she said quietly.

"You had to?" he replied, his eyes dark.

Nodding, Hermione glanced at him. "You're in trouble, Draco."

"I am in trouble," he said, stepping towards her. "I'm in trouble because of you." He spat the last word out harshly, and Hermione winced. "Do you know what he's going to do to me?"

Hermione cinched her eyebrows together, her emotions running strong. "He…he can't do anything now." Gaining a smidge of courage, she looked him in the eye. "They know; he can't hurt you anymore."

Draco paused for a moment, and in that moment, Hermione's stomach tied itself in knots. The look on his face broke her heart. Hopelessness took a hold of his features and pulled, his eyes dimming. "You don't know what my father is capable of," Draco said. "He has more control than you think, and not just over me."

"But Dumbledore…"

Draco shook his head and stared at the floor. "He can't do anything," he bitterly said, a moment passing in absolute silence. Hermione watched as his hands clenched and unclenched, the anger rebuilding in his body. "And I have _you _to thank for that." Jerking his head up, Draco pressed his lips together.

Hermione swallowed and looked at the door beside her. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes, eyes of silver rage. "Draco you…you need help," she said. "Dumbledore can help you…he really can."

Draco laughed humorlessly. "Right," he said, rolling his eyes. Then, he rounded on Hermione, his face pushed up into hers. "I don't need help."

"Yes you do," she said. "You just don't see it."

Grabbing her arms, Draco pinned Hermione against the wall. "You are wrong, Granger," he bit out. "I see it. I see it all too well. I trusted you."

Hermione closed her eyes, an effort to keep the tears at bay.

"Do you understand that?" he asked, and Hermione gulped. "I actually put trust in somebody."

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath.

"And you know what that person did?"

Silence.

"Do you?"

Draco waited for an answer, but an answer never came.

"Open your bloody eyes and answer me," he demanded, squeezing her arms.

Reluctantly, Hermione opened her eyes, her brown orbs immediately meeting a pair of stormy, gray eyes. Fear seeped into her being, Draco's grip on her edging upon painful and his face so close to her. He had control at the moment, and that frightened Hermione. Anger was a dreadfully difficult emotion to control, and if anybody knew anything about Draco Malfoy, it was that he had trouble controlling his emotions, especially anger.

"Answer me, Granger," he said. "Answer me now."

Hermione licked her lips, all too aware of the boy invading her space, the boy enraged because of what she did. "I'm sorry," she whispered, trying to stare anywhere other than his eyes.

"You're sorry," he said, repeating her words monotonously. "That's all you have to say?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry you have to live this life," she said, opening your eyes. "And I'm sorry you can't see that you don't deserve this."

Draco's breaths were all that could be heard, then the shuffling of his feet as he looked down. He blew a loud breath of air out of his mouth. "I'll never forgive you, Granger," he said. "I hope you know that."

Stepping back, Draco gave her one simple glance before leaving the classroom. Hermione, left to deal with the wave of emotional aftermath, rested her head against the stone wall and finally let the tears fall down her face.

* * *

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table Saturday morning, two pieces of untouched, buttered toast sitting upon her plate. She hadn't slept well the night before, and the traces of such made themselves known beneath her eyes, smudging her normally clear complexion.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, touching her arm.

"What?" she asked faintly, glancing at her best friend.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded absentmindedly before picking up a piece of toast, removing tiny bits of crust before nibbling. "I'm just tired."

"I'm worried," he said.

Glancing at him, she gave him a half-hearted smile. "I'm really fine," she said. "I'll have a lie-in tomorrow."

Harry sighed as Hermione returned her gaze to the Slytherin table. Draco wasn't present, as she expected. Checking her wristwatch, she noted the time to be a quarter after eight. He would be meeting with his father at that exact moment. That realization sent armies of ants charging through her stomach and up her spine, causing Hermione to drop her toast. She hoped he would be ok. Lucius surely wouldn't hurt him at Hogwarts. Would he? Dumbledore must have set up precautions. He must have.

"Hermione?" Harry asked again.

"Yes?" she replied, giving him her almost complete attention.

"You keep staring at the Slytherin table," he said.

Startled, Hermione ripped her attention away from anything and everything green. "What?"

"I've been watching you," he said. "You keep staring at their table. Why?"

Hermione stared at Harry, bewildered. "No, I'm not," she said.

"Hermione, what's going on?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," she said.

"Seamus Finnegan told me yesterday that Draco Malfoy dragged you out of the library," Harry said cautiously. "What's going on? Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I'll hex him."

"What? No," she squeeked. "Nothing…nothing is going on, Harry. I have to go." Grabbing her bag, Hermione threw it over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Harry called after her. "Where are you going?"

"Library," she said.

"Library?"

Stopping, Hermione glared at him. "Yes, Harry, the library. That's not a crime, is it?" she snapped.

Wide-eyed, Harry watched as Hermione walked away, his head shaking back and forth as he wondered what had happened to his best friend.

* * *

At nine o'clock on a Saturday morning, the Hogwarts library was nearly empty. Madam Pince shuffled from one stack of books to another, returning some and resorting others. When Hermione entered, the hunched over librarian gave her a passing glance as Hermione plunked her bag down on the table in the back corner. In an orderly fashion, she took out her Ancient Rune's text, her half finished essay, and her quill and ink pot. Spreading her materials out before her, she took a deep breath, dipped her quill into her ink, and paused.

The words on her parchment blurred and blended together, none of them making any sense. Dropping her quill, she sighed and buried her head in her hands. How could she concentrate on homework when Draco could be in trouble? And if he was, she could do nothing about it.

Dragging her hand through her hand, she stared at the parchment. Then, picking up her quill, she scribbled a quick note.

_Are you ok? I know you're cross with me, but please let me know._

_-HG_

Shoving it into her pocket, she cleared her table and left the library.

* * *

Hermione never received a reply and didn't see Draco until Monday morning at breakfast, much to her immediate relief. And it wasn't until the end of the day that she spoke to him.

It was an hour before dinner, and Hermione walked through the corridors, her book bag heavy and another stack of books weighing down her arms. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she trudged through the halls, her arms going numb and her shoulders aching. More than once, she cursed Professor Snape and the excessive lengths of his essays, the reason behind the multitude of books in her possession.

Turning a corner, she nearly shrieked as she crashed into another person, the books in her arms falling to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she said, stooping to pick up her books scattered upon the stone. When nobody answered, she glanced up, only to see Draco walking away as if he'd never walked into her in the first place. "Draco!" she called out, forgetting the books as she went after him. "Wait."

He stopped and turned, a cold stare plastered upon his face. "What?"

"Did you get my note the other day?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?" he asked monotonously.

Hermione sighed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said, walking away.

"Draco," Hermione said, grabbing his arm.

Draco froze, his muscles tensing up. "Don't touch me," he demanded darkly.

Removing her hand from his arm, she smoothed her palms over the sides of her pants. "Can't you just talk to me?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Draco…"

"NO! Alright," he shouted. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Ok," she said meekly.

"And I don't want to see you," he continued. "And I don't want anything to do with you."

Hermione stared at the floor. "Ok," she said.

"Malfoy!" somebody shouted from behind Hermione.

Both froze.

"You get away from her right now," Ron demanded, his wand pointed at the pale boy, Harry not too far behind.

"I didn't do anything to your sodding girlfriend, Weasel" he spat.

"Bollocks," Ron said, shoving Draco.

Sneering, Draco brushed his fingers over his wand. Hermione watched the momentary contact, hoping a fight wouldn't result.

"Leave, Malfoy," Harry said, coming to stand in front of Hermione.

Giving Hermione a long, cold glare, he turned and stalked off, his shoulders hunched and the hem of his robes brushing against the floor.

* * *

A week passed, the only interaction between Draco and Hermione being the occasional dirty look or scowl on his part. Hermione willingly gave him the space to cool down, needing the time to deal with Harry and Ron. Her friendship, or rather acquaintanceship, as she supposed it would now be called, came too close to being discovered. So, for the next week, she spent the majority her time with Harry and Ron, constantly reassuring Ron that Draco hadn't hurt her and Harry that there was nothing going on.

The following Monday afternoon found Hermione sitting in Ancient Runes, the only sound heard being the ticking of the clock as quills scratched upon parchment. Finishing her in class essay, Hermione put her quill down and stretched. Hunching back over her desk, she sighed, sliding a hesitant look to the boy sitting beside her, a long scroll of parchment already covered with his neat, slanted handwriting. Biting her lip, Hermione tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear and tore a corner off of a clean piece of parchment.

_Are you still cross with me?_

_-HG_

Checking to see if anybody was looking, Hermione quickly tossed the folded note onto Draco's desk.

He jerked slightly as the small, white object landed smack in the middle of his essay. Reaching out, he grabbed the note with his long, pale fingers, unfolding it and scanning it quickly.

A moment later, Hermione's note was returned. Quickly opening it, she read what he had written, her heart sinking.

_Yes._

_-DM_

Picking up her quill, she replied.

_Forgive me?_

_-HG_

Tossing it back to Draco, she waited for his response. And one came a moment later.

_No._

_-DM_

Hermione sighed, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, hoping she would catch his gaze. However, his head remained bent and his quill continued to scratch steadily against his parchment. Not wanting to give up just yet, she tore another corner off of her parchment.

_Why won't you just talk to me?_

_-HG_

She quietly reached over and placed the note on his desk. Looking up, Draco rolled his eyes and read her note, replying a second later.

_I thought I made that clear, Granger. Stop writing me notes. It's annoying._

_-DM_

Exhaling audibly, Hermione sunk one of her hands into her hair and scratched her head, glaring at Draco's note, her fingers playing with the frayed edges of the parchment.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Babbling called out. Hermione jerked her head up, her hand reflexively grabbing Draco's note. "Five points from Gryffindor for note passing," she said, sending her a hard look.

Turning red, Hermione nodded and apologized quietly as a round of snickers passed through the room.

* * *

At dinner that night, Hermione received an owl.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I am requesting your presence in my office directly after dinner. The password is Ice Mice._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore

* * *

_

As the letter requested, Hermione arrived at Professor Dumbledore's office precisely after dinner. Fidgeting nervously, she stated the password and allowed the stairs to guide her up to the Headmaster's office. Knocking once on the door, Dumbledore beckoning her from within, she entered. Wide-eyed, she gazed at all the objects packed within his office as she took a seat across from him.

"Miss Granger," he said, a small smile upon his lips. "I'm glad you could meet with me this evening."

"Of course, Headmaster," she said.

"Would you like a lemon drop?" he asked, a bowl of yellow candies suddenly appearing on his desk.

Hermione shook her head, and Dumbledore smiled, taking one for himself. Popping it into his mouth, the Headmaster's face then turned serious, the twinkle in his eye dimming, although not completely disappearing.

"My dear, I'm sure you are aware of the situation surrounding Draco Malfoy and the accusations made against his father," he said softly, folding his hands and resting them upon his desk.

Hermione nodded. "I am."

Professor Dumbledore smiled gently and nodded his head. "I expected as much," he said. "I would like to share with you the matters that have arisen due to those accusations."

Hermione shifted in her seat, her nerves firing and her stomach twisting.

"Lucius Malfoy, as expected, has denied all charges placed against him," he said. "He has demanded to know the identity of the person who has accused him of abusing his son."

Paling, Hermione wrung her hands together. "Sir…"

"No need to worry, my dear," he said. "He does not know it was you that made the accusation, and I will make it certain that he will never know. But considering the nature of Lucius Malfoy, I would like to put into place some precautions for yourself and young Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione frowned. "Draco?"

"Yes, Draco," the Headmaster said. "While, the law can do nothing without concrete evidence, there are things I can do." Dumbledore paused for a moment. "With your parent's permission, I would like to place some wards around your house."

"You think…you think he'll attack my parents?" Hermione asked, her face drawn, expressing the shock and fear felt within.

"No, it is simply a mere precaution," he reassured, holding up on placating hand.

"Oh." Hermione nodded.

"Now, about Mr. Malfoy, I'd like you to keep a careful eye on him."

"But…sir, why me?"

"Those closest notice that which normally would go unnoticed," Dumbledore said, peering at Hermione over his half-moon spectacles. "And from what I've been told, you and Mr. Malfoy have become friends."

Hermione grimaced. "We were friends, sir." Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "He's not speaking to me."

"Ah, I see," he said. "Give him time. Even the most stubborn come around eventually."

"You think so?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Of course, my dear," he said. Then, shifting his attention, he shuffled a large stack of parchment sitting on the corner of his desk and politely dismissed Hermione with another lemon drop offer.


	14. Quidque Corrigo Denuo

**Author's Note – **Welcome back! Remember to review once you have finished.

**Another Note – **The title means "Everything Right Again," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Harry Potter.

**Enjoy and Review!!!

* * *

**

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Quidque Corrigo Denuo"

* * *

The clutches of winter loosened their hold as spring budged its way onto the grounds of Hogwarts, greening the grass, budding the trees, and warming the air. Students, feeling the change in the weather, began to venture outside during their free time, filling the lawns and courtyards with impromptu games, homework sessions, and lounge-a-bouts. Friday afternoon, Hermione wandered through the main courtyard, a book in hand and her hair tied back, warding off the light breeze threatening to take control of her unruly hair. Finding a bench situated beneath a sweetly flowered tree, she sat down, opened her book to the marked page, and began reading.

Across the courtyard, partially hidden by a jet of water shooting out of a fountain, Draco sat, his Transfiguration text opened on the bench beside him, and a scroll of notes laid across his lap. Between the two, a dozen students sat or meandered through the area. However, each paid no mind to the other individuals, their minds already latched onto the other's presence, Hermione sneaking small glances while Draco pretended she didn't exist.

Sighing, Hermione turned the page of her book. Patience seemed to be one of those characteristics fate had granted upon her personality. She had no trouble sitting through class or waiting for the end of the day to arrive. However, it had been nearly a month since their falling out, and Hermione, no matter how much patience she harbored, was becoming frustrated. And she figured if he wasn't going to made amends, then she was just going to have to take the matter into her own hands. Yet, words came so much easier than actions.

Her friendship with Harry and Ron ran deep. They were her first friends in the magical world, and they had been through a lot together. However, for reasons she still struggled to grasp, she held her friendship with Draco on a different level. Predictability and regulation ran her life with Harry and Ron. She could always expect what would happen next. Hermione loved her best friends with all of her heart, but they only offered her a simplicity that her brain had no trouble unwinding. Challenge was what she thrived upon, and Draco offered her the complexity and spontaneity that compromised a challenge worthy of her brain.

Shaking her head, she glanced up, her eyes brushing over the blond haired boy sitting across the way, the top button on his white shirt undone, the collar peeking out of the top of his black sweater, his sleeves pushed up. Absentmindedly, he turned the page of the book beside him, scribbling something down on his parchment.

Draco was a challenge, but he was so much more than that. The differences between the two ran like a river; however, it was those differences that pulled her to him and him to her. That was something Hermione could not deny.

* * *

Another Monday, another hour of Ancient Runes, and another series of agonizing moment spent in the company of the intentionally oblivious Slytherin. The prospect of such a situation made Hermione squirm.

"The Pyramid Series of symbols relates directly to time," Professor Babbling lectured, her hands gesturing wildly as the students enraptured by her instruction scribbled away at their desks. "The Primary Set relates to an actual numerical symbol while the Secondary Set provides the unit. Together, both sets give us a sense of time."

Idly, Hermione copied down the information. Sighing heavily, she rested her head in her hands, her normally favorite class failing to capture her attention. She needed to resolve the differences she had with Draco; she absolutely loathed when anybody was cross with her, her insides swirling in unrest.

Hermione's thoughts began to wander as the professor spoke, something nobody would fathom she would be capable of doing. As they meandered through the neatly organized sections of her mind, they more than once touched upon her mother. She missed her mother, the woman acting as the metaphorical rock in her life. To Hermione, her mother always had the answers to all of life's problems, no matter how big or complex. Than, as if someone had flipped a switch, the answer clicked, and Hermione breathed easier.

* * *

That evening, Hermione stole herself away. A well inked quill, a length of parchment, and the infinite solitude of the library being all she needed.

_Dear Mum,_

_I need your advice. Draco and I have had a fight, and now everything is a mess. I don't know what to do. He refuses to look at me, let alone speak to me. I can't reveal the nature of our argument, but I absolutely can't stand him being cross with me. What should I do? I don't want him angry with me anymore._

_Love always,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I miss you.

* * *

_

The following evening, she received a reply.

_My Love,_

_Talk to him. It is as simple as that. Even if he refuses to listen, just talk. Use your words, and eventually, he will listen. Your words are powerful, and they __**will**__ get through. Be strong and don't give up. Even the most stubborn have ears. Remember that your father and I love you very much._

_Love always,_

_Mum_

_P.S. We miss you too._

Hermione rested her chin in the palm of her hand, reading the letter through again. Talk to him, that being her mother's advice. Simple enough, yet still so difficult.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ron asked during dinner on Wednesday. "What was our Charms assignment?"

Hermione glanced at him. "Weren't you listening in class today?" she quipped.

"No," he scoffed, more at her tone than her question.

"Then what makes you think I'll give you the assignment if you can't even listen?" she asked, her attention instantly shifting as somebody amidst a sea of green stood up from the table across the room, moving towards the door.

"Because you're one of my best mates, and that's what you do," he said.

Hermione frowned and huffed. "I am not your assignment keeper," she said, standing up, watching Draco out of the corner of her eye. "I'll be in the library."

Bag over her shoulder, she left the Great Hall, her dinner forgotten and Ron's pleas to help him passing through her ears, unheard. Once in the Entrance Hall, she quickly walked across the stone floor and passed through the large double doors to the outside. Cool warmth, carried upon the wind, rustled her hair as she headed through the trees bordering the lake and towards the boy standing near the water's edge.

"Draco," she called a few meters away.

He didn't answer.

"Are you ever going to talk to me again?" Hermione took a few hesitant steps towards him. "It's been a month. You can't honestly still be cross with me."

"I can be whatever the bloody hell I want to be," he said, his spine rigid and his voice clipped and forced.

"I know," she said, "but this is really getting ridiculous."

Twisting his face into a sneering scowl, Draco turned. "Sod off, Granger," he said, walking away. "I don't want to talk to you."

Hermione went after him. "Just wait one moment," she said, catching him by the arm.

Draco ground his teeth together as the wind disrupted several strands of his hair, those of which fell to obscure his stormy, gray eyes. "Get your bloody hands off of me," he demanded, using his fingers to pry her fingers off of his arm.

Hermione grabbed his other arm. "Only if you promise not to walk away."

"I said, get your bloody hands off me." His fingers struggled to free himself of her grasp.

"And I said," she calmly stated, "only if you promise to not walk away."

Draco lowered his eyebrows, throwing dark shadows upon his eyes. Pressing her lips together, Hermione stood her ground, consciously straightening her spine and bringing herself up to her full height. She stared into his eyes as he stared into hers. And they stood, Draco's fingers locked upon her hands as Hermione's hands remained wrapped around his upper arms, neither saying anything.

Finally, after several minutes, Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine," he spat removing his hand from her arm.

Removing her own from his, Hermione took a step back, suddenly realizing just how close to Draco she stood. Brushing her hands along the sides of her school skirt, she eyed him with the resolve of the wary and relieved.

Draco crossed his arms. "So," he said, glaring at her, "talk."

"I never meant to cause you trouble," she said.

Laughing humorlessly, Draco shook his head. "But you did," he said, staring at her directly. "Don't you realize that?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then why did you do it?" he asked, demanding an answer with his eyes. "There was a reason I asked you not to."

Hermione sighed. "I was worried about you," she said.

"That doesn't answer my question," he said. "I can certainly take care of myself."

Shaking her head, she frowned. "Draco," she said. "You don't always have to take care of yourself. You're only fourteen."

"So?" he asked, a swirl of emotions building in his body, emotions that knew the answer, that knew the truth hiding behind all the stubbornness, fear, and anger held within himself.

"You're still a child in many ways," she said.

He laughed. "A child? I stopped being a child years ago."

Face falling, Hermione looked at the ground. "I'm just trying to help you."

"We've been through this, Granger," he said. "I don't need help."

"And that's just it," she said, looking up at him.

"What is?"

"You _do_ need help," she said. "You just can't see that."

Draco shook his head. "You just don't get it, Granger."

"No," she said, Draco staring at her. "_You_ don't get it."

"And what, pray-tell, do I not get?" he snapped.

"Half the time you pretend that your life is just fine when the both of us know that it's not. You don't deserve all this pain in your life," she said, stepping towards him. "Why can't you see that?"

Draco froze and stared at Hermione. "Why do you always do this?" he asked, turning his gave to the side.

"Do what?" she asked, coming to stand directly in front of him.

"Make me feel like this," he said. "Like…like…"

"…like you're human?" she responded.

Draco sat heavily upon the ground, his knees drawn up and his elbows propped up on his bent legs. "Yeah," he said.

Hermione sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's ok to feel like this," she said.

"No, it's not," he mumbled.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Stop it," he said.

"Stop what?"

"Asking so many damn questions," he said, resting his head in his hands.

"Only if you accept that these emotions are ok to feel," she said.

Draco groaned. "Why do you have to make everything to bloody hard?"

"It's you, Draco, that's making this hard," she said, reaching over to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Sighing, he turned his head the other way and stared off into the distance. And Hermione sat with him, running her hands through his hair, Draco either too tired or too relieved that she was still there to push her away.

* * *

"Granger?" Draco asked a few nights later.

"Yes?" She looked up from the essay she wrote.

"Why did you keep trying to be my friend?" he asked, tapping his quill on the table.

"Everyone needs a friend, Draco," she responded, a tiny smile pulling on her lips.

"But why me?"

"Why not you?" Hermione said smiling.

Draco frowned. "I used to make your life hell."

Shrugging, Hermione closed the book in front of her. "Things change." She stood up from the table. "You changed," she added before wandering off into the stacks of books constituting the library.

Draco followed a few paces behind her. "I still don't understand," he said.

Hermione glanced at him as she returned a book to its proper place. "What's there to understand?"

"Everything!" he exclaimed, his hands gesturing as his eyes widened. "Why you? Why me? Why now? Why'd you even keep trying?" he rambled off.

Studying him as if he were a sad passage in a novel, she gently patted the side of his arm. "Because you were worth it," she said, running her hand over the spines of the books as she walked between the stacks. Smiling, she glanced back at him. "And you still are worth it."

* * *

"Draco?"

"Yeah?" He looked up from the open book on the desk in front of him.

They sat beside each other in their classroom, books open on the desks surrounding them, and parchment scattered about the spaces in between.

"Do you want the green ones?" she asked, holding out her hand, six green Skittles sitting in the middle.

"No," he said, shaking his head, popping an orange one into his mouth from the small pile at the corner of his desk. "I thought you liked those ones."

"I do," she said, dropping them back into the bag, the candies clinking against each other. "I was just wondering if you wanted them."

"Oh," he said, looking up, his mouth formed into a small circle and his eyes startlingly innocent.

Hermione smiled softly, returning to her work. Draco had changed more in the past few weeks than in the eight months she had known him. It seemed as if the worst of life's burdens had lifted from his shoulders. When she was positive he wasn't watching her, she'd study him. The way he walked changed, his footsteps more at ease and less forced. His face gained more color, what little color Draco could get, his skin appearing creamier and less sallow. However, the biggest change, Hermione noted, was in his eyes. What used to be stormy and stone cold was now softer and less guarded.

Breathing easy once again, she simply enjoyed the time she spent with him, however small it happened to be.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Hermione refocused her thoughts and returned her attention to the essay Professor Snape had assigned the other day, her pile of Skittles slowly diminishing as time passed.

* * *

"I never would have thought that dandelions had so many magical uses," she mused that weekend as they strolled the grounds of Hogwarts, searching for the flower in question.

"Of course," Draco said, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pressed, black dress pants. "Why would you think that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose because Muggles are always trying to kill them."

"Why?" he asked, glancing at her as he stooped down to pluck a small, round, yellow flower from the earth.

"Because they're considered a weed," she said, joining him, gathering a handful of flowers. "Do we just need the yellow flower or the stem and leaves too?"

"Just the flower," he said, removing the stems.

"Ok," she said, pulling the flowered head from the stem. Then, a distant memory of her earlier school days passed through her mind, and Hermione smiled impishly. "Hey, Draco."

"What?" he asked.

Grinning, she held up her dandelion. "Mummy had a baby, and the head popped off," she recited, digging her thumb into the stem directly behind the flower, the head of which flew off, hitting Draco in the chest. Giggling, she bent down and picked it up.

"What in the name of Merlin?" Draco asked, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, a clump of flowers frozen in his hand, half de-stemmed.

"When I was in primary school we used to pick dandelions during break," she said, grinning at the memory, "and we'd sing that and fling dandelion heads all over the schoolyard."

"Why?" he asked, shaking his head back and forth very slowly.

Hermione shrugged. "Because we could."

Laughing quietly, Draco resumed his dandelion collecting, Hermione following suit. However, a minute later, Draco looked up.

"Hey, Granger."

"What?" she asked.

And at the exact moment Hermione looked up, a beheaded dandelion hit her smack dab in the center of her forehead, nothing but a certain Slytherin's laughter ringing throughout the immediate area.

* * *

April flowed gently into the beginnings of May, Draco and Hermione cementing their friendship with nights spent working on homework and moments during the weekends where both could shake off their masks, Draco coming out of his shell and into his true self, and Hermione shaking her bookworm persona and showing him who she really could be, something Harry and Ron, she imagined, would never accept about her. In their world, everybody fit into rigid molds. One could never break free of their bindings and change. What you started out being was what you ended up being. Hermione could accept that mindset to a certain degree, but what she really needed was somebody who had no preset ideals of how she should act. And that was who Draco was for her, somebody who would take who she wanted to be and accept that without any questions. Hermione hoped that Harry and Ron would open up to the idea that she was more than just a walking encyclopedia someday; but in the meantime, Draco more than sufficed. 


	15. Fides Itaque Consensio

**Author's Note – **Hello! Yes, this chapter is a tad late. It would have been out last week if I hadn't gotten the stomach flu last weekend. But all's well again and you have a new chapter to read and review! Oh, the excitement.

**Another Note – **The chapter title means "Trust and Cooperation" in Latin. I've noticed many questions have arisen in your reviews. I always try to respond to your reviews, but sometimes I either forget or I get lazy. So, at the end of this chapter there is a small question/answer section.

**Disclaimer – **No, the rumors aren't true. I haven't magically turned into JKR, and I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Fides Itaque Consensio"

* * *

The end of May brought the beginning of the end to the Tri-Wizard Tournament. While the third task wasn't set to occur for nearly three weeks, preparation had already begun. Excitement levels began to climb, training commenced among the Champions, and a maze of hedges started to grow out on the quidditch pitch. Hermione and Ron remained busy helping Harry prepare for the third task, learning new spells and practicing old ones. During the time Hermione wasn't with Harry and Ron or working on homework, she could be found in a secluded and rather hidden part of the castle with Draco Malfoy, the both of them also helping Harry get ready for the third task in their own way.

Sunday morning dawned bright and warm, Hermione and Draco finding themselves in their classroom directly after breakfast, the now well worn list of possible suspects they imagined could have set Harry up sitting between them.

"I think the most likely would be either your father or Karkaroff," Hermione said, resting her chin in her hand and gazing at Draco across from her.

Draco returned her look and nodded. "I see your thinking, but…" he trailed off, tapping his chin with his finger, his eyes cast slightly to the left, his mind whirring in thought.

"But what?"

"What if they were working together?" he said.

Hermione cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowed as her thoughts rolled the idea around. "Someone working from the outside and someone working from the inside," she said, nodding. "I like your thinking."

Brushing a pretend piece of lint from his shirt, Draco smirked. "I knew you would."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione groaned. "Shut it, you," she said playfully.

Sitting back in his chair, Draco grinned impishly. "Get used to it, Granger."

"Whatever," she retorted, shaking her head. Draco snorted and Hermione gave him another eye roll before returning to their previous conversation. "We have no evidence, though."

"What?" he asked, leaning forward once again.

"We have no evidence that either your father or Karkaroff are trying to get Harry killed."

"My father used to be a Deatheater," he said. "Isn't that enough?"

"_Used to be_," she stressed. "Didn't he redeem himself or something after the last war? I remember reading something about it."

"Claimed he was under the Imperius the whole time," he said, leaning his head against his hand. "Load of bollocks if you ask me."

Hermione nodded. "What about Karkaroff?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't think he was ever a Deatheater," he said. "At least to my knowledge."

"But he knows your father," Hermione continued.

Draco nodded. "He's been over at the Manor several times."

Running her tongue against the backs of her teeth, Hermione squinted and thought. "You don't necessarily have to be a Deatheater to be evil," she said. "Do you think Voldomort had followers that he didn't make into Deatheaters?"

Wincing at the name, Draco shrugged. "Would have made sense if you think about it. Men and women who did his bidding but would never be caught for being a Deatheater."

"Like taking out insurance," Hermione mused.

"Taking out what?"

"Insurance," she said. "It's a system Muggles use to protect their investments."

"And he certainly had investments he wanted protected," he said.

Hermione nodded and sunk her hands into her hair. "But we still have no evidence," she said. "Not really, anyways." Flopping back in her chair, she stared at the ceiling. "Oh, this is hopeless."

Agreeing, albeit reluctantly, Draco nodded. Then, as if the topic were washed from their thoughts like a cool shower, their conversation turned and an entirely new path of interests was formed between the two that morning.

* * *

The following Saturday, Hermione and Draco spent another morning in their classroom. However, instead of their attention centering upon possible suspects or homework, their focus of work stayed rooted in spells, curses, and hexes.

"He has the Impediment curse down just fine," Hermione said, pushing a desk to the edge of the room. "And he almost has a grasp of the Reductor curse."

Draco nodded, leaning over and shoving two desks against the wall, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

"It's the Shield Charm," she said, "that he's having trouble with."

With the desks moved out of the way, the classroom opened up, leaving a good-sized area open in the middle. Brushing his hands against the fabric of his pants, Draco straightened up and looked at Hermione, nodding.

"I'm not surprised," he said.

Opening her mouth, Hermione propped her hands on her hips. "Draco Malfoy!" she scolded. "What have I told you about insulting my friends in front of me?"

Holding his hands up, he raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't an insult," he said.

Scowling, she hardened her glare.

"Honest," he said. "Many adult wizards and witches have trouble with the spell."

Giving him a moment's study, she softened her features by a slight degree. "If that's what you say," she said.

Huffing, Draco crossed his arms. "Jeez, Granger," he said, shaking his head and grinning. "Your buttons are too easy to push."

"I do not have buttons," she demanded, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

"Sure you do," he said, nodding towards her. "I just pushed one."

Hermione scowled.

Draco gave her a moment's stare before looking away. "Anyways, on with the spell," he said, quickly changing the subject. "Come here."

"What? You know the spell?" she asked, a hint of a smirk fluttering about in her features.

"Yes," he said.

"I thought you just said most adults have trouble with it."

"They do."

"Yet, you know it?"

"I do," he said, a smirk of a grin spreading across his face. "I'm just that good."

Shaking her head, Hermione took a few steps towards him. "You do realize that last statement was dripping with arrogance, right?"

"Yep," he said, clearly enjoying himself. Then, he took out his wand, his entire persona changing. "The incantation is _Protego_," he said.

Hermione nodded. "_Protego_," she said, rolling the new spell around on her tounge.

"And the wand movement is less of the standard _swish and flick_ and more of a _flick and jab_." His wrist snapping to the side at the exact moment he thrust his wand forward, he shouted the incantation. Instantly, a shining blue barrier formed before Draco, shimmering and warping his figure. Canceling the shield after holding it for a few seconds, Draco nodded at Hermione to try it on her own.

"Simple enough," she said, her own wand clutched in her hand and determination forming in her eyes. "_Protego!_" A blue shield, just like Draco's, shot from her wand tip and spread out before Hermione, surrounding her in a glowing sphere of magical protection. Grinning at her accomplishment, Hermione canceled the spell. "That was quite easy," she said.

"Do it again," Draco said, holding his wand out, "and I'll throw something at you to deflect." Hermione brought her shield up again, the blue reflecting off of the stone floor. "_Locomotor Mortis_."

A straight jet of orange light hurtled towards Hermione's shield. Hitting the blue barrier, the spell easily broke through, hitting her straight on. Legs snapping together, Hermione jerked upright and dropped her wand. Draco smirked and took a few steps towards her.

"Creating the shield is easy," he said, pointing his wand at her. "_Finite Incantatum_. It's keeping it up that's the difficult part."

Picking up her wand, Hermione nodded. "Ok," she said. "Let's try again."

Quickly putting up her shield, Hermione waited for Draco's spell.

"This time, I want you to keep pouring your magic into the spell," he said. "Don't stop." Hermione nodded and braced herself. "_Petrificus Totalus_."

As the last curse did, it sped towards Hermione and smashed into her shield, scattering the spell. The hex hitting her, Hermione fell to the ground, her entire body as rigid as a log.

"_Finite Incantatum_," Draco muttered, holding out a hand to Hermione.

Taking his hand, Hermione got to her feet, rubbing the back of her head. "We've got to cushion the floor," she said, wincing as her fingers brushed a particularly tender spot.

Draco nodded, and waving his wand, the stone slabs under Hermione wavered for a split second. Giving them a test bounce, Hermione grinned as the once hard floor gave way under her feet.

"You're still not pouring your magic into the spell," he said.

Hermione scowled. "I was too!"

"No, you weren't. You stopped. That's why the curse got through," he said. "You can't stop, Granger."

Huffing, Hermione shifted her feet. "Fine," she said. "Let's give it another go."

Nodding, Draco waited for Hermione to bring up her shimmering shield. Once the blue barrier was in place, he shot her a spell. "_Impedimenta_," he cast.

The spell raced towards the shield, hit it, the shield holding for a few seconds before dissipating, Hermione facing the brunt of the curse.

"Again," Draco demanded a moment later, and Hermione complied, driven by determination.

An hour later, Hermione swayed where she stood, sweat dripping down the sides of her face, soaking her hair. Her wand was still clutched in her hand and her eyes seared at Draco, focus and concentration steeling their depths.

"One more time," he said.

Hermione nodded, her shield appearing in the blink of an eye. Instantly, Draco threw a Jelly-Legs Jinx in her direction, the bright beam being absorbed into the shield.

"Twelve times in a row," she said with a satisfied sigh as she sat down upon the ground. "Twelve times in a row I've deflected your curse."

Sitting down beside her, Draco nodded. "You did well," he said.

Hermione laid down, her legs stretched out and her arms splayed to the sides, her body heavy with fatigue. "You think so?" she asked, glancing up at Draco.

"It took me nearly a week to learn it," he said, looking down at her.

"When did you learn it?"

"Last summer."

"Last summer?" she asked, frowning. "What about the ban on under-age magic?"

"The Manor is warded against such detection," he said, smiling ruefully. "One of the only perks to living there."

Hermione nodded, choosing to say nothing as she suspected his reasoning behind his needing to learn the spell. Comfortable silence fell upon the pair, Hermione closing her eyes as her heart rate returned to a more normal pace. Then, like a deep rumble from an unfathomable depth, Hermione's stomach grumbled. She blushed while Draco grinned with amusement. Getting to his feet, he held out both of his hands.

"Let's go to the kitchens," he suggested.

Hermione forced her eyes open. "I don't think I can move," she said.

"Nonsense, Granger," he said, reaching down and grabbing her hands. "You just need some chocolate."

Pulling her to her feet, Draco lead a bleary eyed Hermione out of the classroom.

"Draco?" she asked as they stepped out of the room.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said, "for your help."

He looked at her, his eyes slightly bewildered as his mind wrapped itself around the kindness in her voice.

"You're welcome."

* * *

The morning of the third task created an emotional concoction of excitement, fear, anxiety, and anger among those residing in Hogwarts. The long awaited end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament set the morning off ablaze with excited whispers among nearly all students, except the four champions themselves. Fear stole itself away in the hearts of the champions, some showing it more than others, as the unknown approached and bore her heavy fingers down upon the champions' minds. Anxiety ran like an undercurrent beneath the fear, the fourth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws having their History of Magic exam directly after breakfast.

Hermione fretted over her exam, the enormous text open beside her breakfast plate, the cover of which partially covered her toast. Frizz framed her face, her hair exceptionally wild that morning, and redness tingeing her eyes told the story of a night spent studying into the early hours of the morning. Her tie askew and the top button of her shirt undone, Hermione stared at the index, her eyebrows cinched together.

"The Unicorn Treaty of 1865," she said, quickly flipping through the pages. "What was the outcome? I don't remember. How could I have forgotten?"

"Hermione," Ron said, a half eaten muffin in his hand, the other half in the process of being chewed, "you'll do fine."

"You don't know that, Ronald," she said, running her finger down the length of a page. "Ugh!" she exclaimed, turning the page with more force than needed. "Why can't I remember?"

"You're being too hard on yourself," Harry said, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. "Just calm down." Drinking his juice, he set the empty goblet down on the table. "An exam isn't the end of the world. It won't get you killed," he said quietly, staring at his untouched breakfast.

Hermione and Ron froze.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, looking up from her text. "How foolish of me. You're right. You are absolutely right."

"It's alright Hermione," he said. Sighing, he picked up his fork and tucked into his eggs. "There's no use worrying over it, right?" Looking up, he gave them a forced smile and shoveled his food into his mouth, Hermione and Ron exchanging worried glances.

Fear, anxiety, and excitement still intermingled at each house table, each grouping of students exhibiting a different mixture and concentration. Halfway through breakfast, the owls arrived, letters, packages, and newspapers tied to their legs. And it was with the owls that the anger came, the anger tied directly to the front page story with the blaring headline:

**Harry Potter**

"**Disturbed and Dangerous"**

And the anger continued to rage throughout breakfast, all the way up to the point when the masses of students flocked for the doors, thoughts related to their next class and exam swirling in their heads. As Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way to History of Magic, bitterness and rage over Rita Skeeter's latest article took the place of their up and coming exam.

"Honestly, that woman creates more trouble than one could imagine," she said. "With all the slander and false information, I'm surprised she hasn't gotten sacked yet."

"I'd really like to know who provided that dried up, old bint with all that information on me," Harry seethed as they walked.

"Probably Malfoy," Ron said moodily.

At that moment, the individual in question brushed past them, robes swirling and annoyance pulsing with each footstep.

"Bloody Malfoy," Harry said, glaring at the boy. "Bloody pest is what he is."

Ron agreed with vigor and several creatively placed comments. However, Hermione remained quiet, her eyes watching as the blond weaved his way through the students dispersing as they reached the Entrance Hall. She clutched in her hand a small corner of parchment, stuffed into her hand by Draco as he passed them. Sneaking a glance at his neat handwriting, she read the few words written.

_Good luck on your exams._

_-DM_

Eyebrows arched, she nearly stopped in her tracks, Ron bumping into her as she slowed down.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, sidestepping her.

"Sorry," she said, stuffing the note into her pocket.

"S'alright," he said, continuing his conversation with Harry.

* * *

Hermione sat in the library during lunch, Rita Skeeter's article sitting before her, her fingers unconsciously shredding the edges as she read it over, the gripping fury still plaguing her mind hours after the article appeared in the Daily Prophet.

"Hey." Draco appeared before her and sat down. "What are you reading?"

"Skeeter's article in today's Prophet," she said. "I can't stand the woman. She's caused so much trouble this year."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and Hermione glanced up at him, surprise widening her eyes.

"It's not your fault," she said.

"I know," he said, folding his arms on the table and resting his chin upon them. "I just didn't have anything witty to say." A small smile appeared on his face, good humor trying to neutralize the obvious frustration and anger evident in Hermione.

She sighed. "I just can't figure out who supplied her with all this information on Harry," she said. "It says an anonymous student close to Harry was interviewed." She glanced at Draco. "Who could that be? None of Harry's friends would betray him like this."

"Nott."

"Who?"

"Theodore Nott. He's one of my housemates," Draco said, sitting up. "He gave Skeeter the interview."

Hermione stared at Draco. "And you didn't tell me this because…"

"I didn't know until this morning at breakfast," he said. "He likes to brag."

"Oh," she said, studying the article again and frowning. "But it says the student is close to Harry. I don't think Harry even knows who Nott is."

"He's a compulsive liar," Draco explained, leaning back in his chair. "He lies about everything from his shoe size to what he had for breakfast. A little lie to a reporter would be nothing."

* * *

Evening descended upon Hogwarts, the shadows growing, the light a glowing twilight, and the third task beginning. Once dinner had finished, the students, staff, castle guests, and spectators began heading towards the Quidditch pitch. The stands, designed to comfortably fit Hogwarts students and staff during Quidditch games were near bursting. People crowded the benches, filled the aisles, and packed the empty spaces between. Elbows nudged, feet stomped, and bodies squeezed together.

Hermione stood near the front of the Gryffindor section. Ron, Neville, Seamus, and the rest of Gryffindor House surrounded her, along with students from other houses, students from other countries, and people she did not know. A few rows up, the Weasley family occupied an entire row, a line of red heads mixing with the browns, blonds, and blacks of the rest of the population.

On the pitch below, an intricate maze of hedges stood, the paths weaving and twisting within. Hermione found the entrance, her eyes automatically trying to find the correct way to the center. However, she gave up when the greenness of the hedges blended together.

Mayhem surged down on the ground, Ministry officials rushing around, professors checking and rechecking the wards and spells cast upon the hedges, and even more spectators trickling into the Quidditch pitch. It wasn't until the sun had turned a burning red, the bottom edge of it nearly touching the top of the Forbidden Forest, that the champions appeared, heading directly for the entrance of the maze.

"There's Harry!" Ron exclaimed, leaning out of his seat and pointing with his finger.

Peering down, she saw her best friend's mop of messy, black hair. "Does he look nervous to you?" she asked, glancing at Ron.

Squinting, Ron gripped the edge of the stands and looked down. "Nah," he said. "He'll be fine."

Hermione nodded and clasped her hands in her lap, her foot tapping nervously. On the ground below, Ludo Bagman gathered the champions, speaking to them. Several professors joined in, and Hermione watched as the champions were lead to the opening of the maze. Bagman amplified his voice, announcing the start of the third task; and with a sharp whistle, the four champions raced through the opening and into the maze, one right after the other.

The sun faded and the sky turned a deep blue, stars appearing and lights illuminating the Quidditch pitch.

"You think he's alright in there?" Hermione asked, her forehead creased and her neck craned as she tried to peer over the tops of the hedges.

Ron nodded. "It's Harry," he said. "Of course he's alright."

"Ron?"

"What?"

"What if something happens to him?" she asked. "I've got this feeling."

He looked at her. "You're barmy," he said, returning his gaze to the hedge. "He'll be fine. He always is."

Hermione took a deep breath. "You're right," she said, trying to convince herself. "This _is_ Harry we're talking about."

As the minutes ticked by, the murmurs picked up, carrying on the wind theories and bets as to who would emerge first or who would be the first to send up red sparks. She let the sounds of which pass by her, too focused on Harry to care about that nonsense.

Night grew heavy, and the enchanted lights picked up where the sun left off. Hermione's eyes meandered through the myriad of people jammed into the stands. Across the pitch, a cluster of green caught her eye, a flash of blond hair blowing gently in the wind. Draco met her eyes across the distance for a split second. However, the contact was abruptly ended as a high pitch scream came from the hedge. A jet of red sparks immediately followed the scream, and Hermione froze, her heart sputtering painfully in her chest.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathed, gripping Ron's arm. "I knew it. Something's happened."

"Nothing's happened," Ron said, watching as Fleur Delacour emerged from the maze and immediately went into the care of her Headmistress. "It wasn't Harry. See? Nothing to worry about."

Relieved, Hermione let go of Ron's arm as the rest of the crowd settled back down. And time passed, minute by minute, the spectators watching and waiting. Another set of sparks lit up the night sky, Victor Krum appearing several moments later, an obvious Stupify victim.

Hermione moved to the edge of her seat. Only Harry and Cedric Diggory remained in the maze. Silence descended over the maze, the wind rustling the trees in the forest. As the waiting dragged on, the merest suggestion of something amiss seeped into Hermione's mind.

"Something's wrong," she said to Ron.

"Nothing's wrong," he said, although his face was drawn and pale.

"Shouldn't there have been a winner by now?" she asked.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno."

Behind her, a small commotion stirred. Hermione turned around.

"Where's your mum going?" she asked, watching Mrs. Weasley leave the stands.

Ron twisted around and watched his mother hurry through the crowd. "Dunno," he said. "Maybe she needs to use the loo."

"Isn't it in the other direction?"

Ron shrugged and turned back around. Hermione's eyes remained on the Weasley matriarch until she disappeared from sight. Turning back around, Hermione cast her gaze across the pitch, searching for Draco. She found him, and at the exact instant their eyes met, somebody screamed, a scream that created a chain reaction of yells and panicked shouts.

"Ron!" she called out as the stands shook with the force of hundreds of people getting to their feet.

Ron grabbed her arm and pointed to the pitch below. Glancing down, she sucked in her breath and covered her mouth. The heavy dread that had filled her stomach at the start of the third task throbbed as reality sunk in.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered, spotting Harry sprawled on the ground, his arm clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory.

And for Hermione, the world stopped as she watched the professors guide Harry away. Noise swirled all around her, muffled by her own mind. Tears slipped from her eyes, knowing the events of that night would forever change her friend. Standing frozen in her shoes, oblivious to Ron's voice or the blur of people all around her, Hermione stared. And stared she did, not at the pandemonium down on the pitch or the screaming people surrounding her, but at the only other person frozen in their shoes, his green robes and blond hair the only color Hermione saw in the sea of gray.

* * *

**Questions and Answers**

**Is this the end of Fire Dragon? **Oh heavens, no! This is not the end. In fact, it's technically still the beginning.

**How many chapters will Fire Dragon be?** I'm not sure. However, I can give a ballpark estimate as to the word count. I'm guessing between 200,000 and 400,000 words.

**Is Fire Dragon going to go through seventh year?** Yes, and possibly a bit beyond.

**When are Draco and Hermione going to get together?** Be patient my little friends. Your author has a plan up her sleeve.

**And that's the end of this edition of Questions and Answers. Feel free to ask questions in your reviews.**


	16. Initium Pessum Ire

**Author's Note – **Hello again! Yes, yes, I realize this chapter is terribly late. Latest one yet to be exact. As to the reason for this chapter's lateness…well, I like having the next chapter all written before posting the previous chapter (so…since I'm posting sixteen, I have seventeen written already…you get the idea) so that I don't fall behind or mess up my facts. Well, I had a very, very hard time getting chapter seventeen written. Usually I write in a chronological fashion, from the start to the end. Apparently, chapter seventeen felt fussy and writing in a chronological fashion just wouldn't do. It was utter chaos at some points…what with me having writer's block and everything. But now that chapter seventeen is written, I can post chapter sixteen and quell your thirst for more Draco…come on, admit it, you adore him.

**Another Note** – The chapter title roughly translates to "Beginning be Put to an End," in Latin. Originally, I wanted the chapter to be titled "The End of the Beginning" because that is essentially what this chapter signifies…an end to the beginning of Fire Dragon. It's a turning point of sorts…not the dramatic, easy to see turning point…but a more subtle turning point in both characterization and plot. However, my knowledge of Latin grammar is minimal at best…and believe it or not, "The End of the Beginning" has some complex Latin grammar in it that is currently above my current knowledge of Latin.

**Disclaimer** – Honestly people, do you really think I'm JKR? Hah! I wish. But, alas, I'm not…therefore, I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter.

Now, without further ado…

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Initium Pessum Ire"

* * *

The school mourned Cedric's death with black banners, armbands, and huddles of sobbing students. However, amidst the tears, sorrow, and memories, tiny bits of normalcy edged its way into Hogwarts, as Hermione discovered the morning before leaving for home. Morning post arrived in its usual manner, and at its usual time, the frequency of letters from concerned parents higher than normal. Among the flurry of feathers, a generic, brown owl swooped down and landed beside Hermione's plate, dropping a letter on top of her toast. It was with this letter that Hermione realized just how segregated her parents were from the Wizarding World.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hope all is well at Hogwarts, and that you are studying hard. We know end of year exams are coming up, and your father and I wish you the best of luck. You are a brilliant young woman, and we know you will do well. Your father and I have finished sorting out our summer travel plans. How do the Philippines sound for the last week of June? We've made reservations for a beach-side resort that I'm sure you will absolutely adore. The rest of the summer is up to you. If you would like to invite one of your friends to stay with us for a week or two, you may do so. We would love to meet Draco. You speak so much of him in your letters; you've certainly made us curious. The decision is up to you. As always, much love from home and good luck on your exams._

_Love always,_

_Mum_

Placing the letter in her pocket, Hermione resumed eating her breakfast, her thoughts drifting through her head in their typical manner, her eyes following the subject of her thoughts.

Pale blond hair swept along an equally colorless forehead across the Great Hall, a muffin, currently in the process of being eaten, held in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other. Feeling her eyes on him, Draco glanced up and met her gaze for a brief moment before returning to the headline story published that morning.

Hermione sighed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand and stared at her toast. She needed to tell him the happenings of the other night. Draco had more ties to Voldomort than either wished to admit. If one person in the world deserved to know of his return, it would be Draco. And that information would destroy him; Hermione was sure of it. The Malfoy family traveled down one path, a path of darkness. Anybody in the Wizarding World could tell you that. Yet, Draco followed a different path, a path that would be washed away with Voldomort's return. Hermione feared he would have no choice in the end. His father was a very powerful man in the world, and what his father wanted, his father got. She just needed to figure out how to get around that little fact.

Taking out a scrap of parchment, Hermione scribbled Draco a note, a note that would be the first step in avoiding a seemingly inevitable fate.

_We need to talk. Meet me in the library. It is most important that nobody sees us._

* * *

Silence filled the library, something Hermione soaked up the moment she pushed through the heavy, double doors. She strode purposefully across the expanse of the room and headed into the stacks, her head turning left and right as she walked, searching for him. He leaned against a tall stack of books, his feet crossed at the ankles and a book in his hand, the pages flipping nonchalantly. Draco stood as the definition of calm, cool, and collected. However, as Hermione approached him, the book immediately clapped shut, disappearing into the shelf to the left, and he pushed himself away from the stack, his eyes searching Hermione's. And Hermione knew, as she almost always did, that his façade was simply that, a façade to hide that which dwelled beneath.

"Hey," she said, grabbing his sleeve, pulling him deeper into the library.

Draco smirked as the lighting charms that lit the library dimmed and cobwebs grew. "If I didn't know any better, Granger," he drawled, grimacing as a particularly large web entangled itself in his hair, "I'd say you were in search of a snog."

Hermione stopped. "Hardly," she said, looking at him. He towered over her, his gray eyes sparkling with good-humored jest. And she knew the moment she told him, that sparkle that she worked so hard to find would disappear. "I just don't want anybody to overhear what I'm going to tell you."

Combing his fingers through his hair, Draco cinched his eyebrows together. "Something happened, didn't it?" he asked. "Last night…the third task…"

She nodded. "Something did, and you need to know."

"It's bad isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded, looking at a set of molded over textbooks. "Yes," she said, and then grabbing his hand, she led him deeper into the library.

Draco followed, her hand in his a strong reassurance that whatever had happened, he would get through it. They stopped once they reached the back wall of the library. Hermione pushed her hair back and peered up at Draco. Standing almost too close to her, he stared down at her, his eyes revealing the trust he had in her.

She licked her lips and met his eyes. "Voldomort has returned."

Draco blinked. "What?"

Sighing, Hermione shifted her feet and glanced off to the side. "Last night…the third task…Harry and Cedric…they…"

"Granger," Draco said, stopping her with a touch to the arm, "you're making no sense. Slow down."

Bringing her gaze back to Draco, Hermione pressed her lips together and swallowed hard. "The Triwizard Cup was a Portkey," she said. "When Harry grabbed it, it brought him to a graveyard. He said there were Deatheaters there…"

"Deatheaters…" Draco echoed back.

Hermione nodded. "He said your father was there."

Draco looked at the ceiling, a ceiling covered in cobwebs, cobwebs Draco's eyes did not see. "Did he say who else?"

"Avery…Goyle…Nott," she said.

"His inner circle," he whispered.

"What?"

"V-Voldomort's inner circle," he said. "My father has spoken of it."

Nodding, Hermione continued. "They made a potion. I don't know what kind, Harry won't speak of it. But they brought him back." Hermione glanced up and into Draco's silver eyes. "They brought Voldomort back."

Ever so slowly, Draco shook his head back and forth as the information sunk in. His mouth hung open the slightest bit, and his eyes grew wide and panicked. "No," he whispered. "No…this…it…it can't be."

"I wouldn't lie to you," she said.

Draco looked away. "It can't be," he said, his voice hollowed and strained.

"Yet, it is," she said.

"Potter defeated him," he said, still looking off into the distance. "He was gone."

"He was gone," she said, "but not dead."

Closing his eyes, Draco rubbed his face, trying to compose himself.

Hermione reached out and touched his arm, pulling his hands away from his face. She slipped her fingers among his own. "Draco…" she said softly.

He opened his eyes.

"There's more." She hesitated, studying his face, trying to judge how he would react. "Minister Fudge…he…he doesn't believe that Voldomort is back. He's saying Harry made everything up…that he's deranged and delusional."

"Maybe he did make it up," Draco said quietly.

Hermione paused for a beat and shook her head. "He didn't, Draco," she said. "I know you want to wish that he did, but the fact is, is that he didn't make it up. Voldomort is back, and the Ministry is turning a blind eye to that fact."

Draco closed his eyes and rested his head against the book shelf behind him. "Oh Merlin, what am I going to do," he breathed, his hands buried in his hair, his fingers gripping the strands. "My father is one of his closest followers…he's going to expect me to follow in his footsteps. I don't want that." Draco gave her a bewildered look. "Hermione…what am I going to do?"

Hermione quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her. Wrapping her arms around his slender body, she hugged him tightly. "You're going to take each day as it comes, and everything will be alright," she said into his shoulder. "I know it will."

Draco tensed in her arms. "Don't promise what you can't keep," he said, his tone of voice hovering between threatening and pleading.

She pulled back, keeping her hands on his arms, and stared up into his eyes. "Listen," she said. Draco lowered his gaze and met her eyes. "My parents have offered you an open invitation to stay at my house for as long as you wish this summer."

He shook his head. "I couldn't."

"Why not?" she asked softly.

"My father would be suspicious," he said. "He likes me close."

"Then make it just a week…a few days," she said.

"How would I explain where I am?"

Hermione gave him a small, tentative smile. "Come on, Draco," she said. "You're the cunning Slytherin here, figure it out."

Running his fingers through his hair, Draco sighed, mulling the idea over in his head. "Ok," he said, and Hermione smiled.

* * *

As with the end of each school year, the Hogwarts Express waited patiently in Hogsmeade, plumes of smoke chugging into the air and sunlight reflecting off of the polished red exterior of the train. Toting her trolley behind her, Crookshank yowling in his cage and Harry and Ron not too far behind, Hermione never felt more ready for summer, feeling the need to leave the year's events behind her resonating in her bones. Finding a compartment to themselves, Harry, Ron and Hermione settled down for the long train ride home and allowed the much needed conversation to fill the silence. Halfway home, Hermione slipped out of the compartment, a magically reinforced glass jar containing one elaborately marked beetle clutched in one hand and a determined step to her walk. Meandering down past the compartments of students, she stopped at one and slowly opened the door.

Draco sat alone, his head turned and his eyes gazing at the passing countryside. Across from him, on the opposite seat, his owl dozed peacefully, his feathery head tucked beneath a large black wing. With her entrance, his head turned, nodding a greeting.

"Hey, Granger," he said.

"Hey," she said, sitting down beside him, the glass jar still held in her hands. "Where's all your little lackeys?"

"I couldn't be bothered with their company," he said smugly, inspecting the sleeve of his robes for metaphorical dust. "So, I shooed them out."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How considerate of you," she said dryly.

Draco smirked. "I do what I can." Spotting the glass jar, he nodded his head, his eyebrow quirked in curiosity. "Got a new pet, Granger?"

Glancing at the beetle in the jar, she smiled, the corners of her lips curling up a tad too much. "Nope," she said, "a reporter."

"What?" he asked, reaching his hand out. "Give it here."

Hermione handed him the jar. "Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus, which explains why she always seemed to know what she shouldn't," she explained. "I found her sitting on a window sill in the hospital wing."

Holding up the jar, Draco studied the beetle. The beetle, or rather the scandalous reporter trapped within, scuttled backwards from his inspection. "What do you plan on doing with her?" he asked.

Taking the jar back, Hermione grinned. "Oh, I don't know, a little blackmail never hurt anyone," she said.

Draco snorted. "A Gryffindor contemplating blackmail," he remarked, shaking his head. "I think the world's coming to an end."

"It's rather fun, if you ask me," she replied smartly. "I won't tell the ministry of her being an unregistered animagus, and she will refrain from publishing anymore lies. Works out quite well, don't you think?"

"I think you've spent too much time in my presence, Granger."

"And why's that?"

"I fear I've rubbed off on you," he said wryly.

"Nonsense," she said, giving him a gentle shove in the arm.

"Hey," he exclaimed, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in his sleeve. "Watch the robes."

"Oh please," she retorted. "Your robes are perfectly fine."

Draco gave her a haughty look. "I'll have you know that this is made from 100 Scandinavian silk."

"And?"

"And what?" he asked, glancing at her.

"And I care because…" she trailed off, a ghost of a smile pulling at her expression.

Huffing, Draco crossed his arms, straightened his shoulders, and turned his gaze to the passing trees and open land. Grinning, Hermione turned in her seat and faced Draco. Reaching out with one finger, she defiantly poked him in the arm, causing Draco to twitch and cast her a quick glance before hastily pulling his eyes back to the window. Still grinning, Hermione poked him again, a bubble of a giggle ready to escape her lips.

"Cease your poking this instant, Granger," he demanded while still gazing out the window.

"Oh lighten up, Draco," she said playfully.

"I will not lighten up," he demanded, his eyes slyly stealing a glance at her, and his lips no longer able to keep the stern frown.

"Oh!" Bouncing up in her seat, Hermione pointed at Draco. "You smiled!"

Giving her his full attention, Draco sent her an impish smirk, at which Hermione widened her eyes. Swiftly, with the speed and grace of a seeker, Draco reached out and poked Hermione in her sides. Squeaking, Hermione twitched violently and fell to the ground, a well placed giggle trailing from her mouth. Draco paused and stared at her, at the way a rosy blush had filled her cheeks, at the way her hair fanned out around her head, and at the way her giggles sparkled in her eyes.

Leaning down, he grinned. "You see, Granger," he said. "I'll always have one up on you."

Hermione ceased her giggling. "And how do you figure that?"

Poking her in the stomach, creating another wave of giggles, Draco smirked. "You're ticklish…and I'm not."

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms, a rather comical picture considering the blush still tinting her cheeks and her position on the ground. "Bollocks," she said, reaching up, trailing her fingers along Draco's neck. Draco raised an eyebrow, her touch creating no twitching or giggles on his part. Pouting, Hermione stuck her bottom lip out and glared at Draco, his face looking down at her over the edge of the bench and his hair falling in his eyes.

From outside the compartment, a muffled rattle and a knock on their compartment door announced the arrival of the plump witch and the tea trolley. Rolling off the bench, Draco dusted off his robes and offered Hermione a hand up. Taking his hand, Hermione got to her feet and opened the compartment door.

"Afternoon, dearies," the witch greeted. "Anything I can get for you?"

"What do you have?" Hermione asked.

The witch surveyed her trolley. "Oh, a wee bit of this, a wee bit of that. Take your pick."

Rummaging around in her pocket, Hermione fished out five sickles and seven knuts. "Can I get some Chocolate Frogs and a butterbeer?" she asked, handing her handful of coins over to the witch.

"Milk or dark chocolate?" the witch asked, handing Hermione a cold butterbeer.

"Dark," she said, and the witch handed her four brilliantly purple boxes.

Hermione sat back down, her Chocolate Frogs spilling onto the seat before her, and popped open her butterbeer. Draco joined her a moment later, adding several Cauldron Cakes to her Chocolate Frogs. Tearing open the bright orange packaging, Draco stuffed one of the cakes into his mouth, a culinary groan of euphoria emitting from his throat.

"I love these things," he said, already reaching for another.

"Hungry much?" Hermione asked, a smidgen of good-natured disgust quirking her eyebrow.

Draco looked up, brushing away the crumbs sticking to his chin with his hand. "A bloke is entitled to his Cauldron Cakes," he said, tearing open another.

"Whatever you say," she said, beheading a squirming frog before changing the subject. "I figured out who set Harry up."

Perking up, Draco paused mid-bite and stared at Hermione with interested eyes. "Who?"

"Barty Crouch Jr."

"Barty Crouch Jr.? Wait…isn't…isn't he dead?" Draco asked, thoroughly confused.

"Apparently that's what he wanted us to think."

"Why Crouch Jr.? I would have surely thought my father or Karkaroff."

Hermione shrugged. "Your father was at the graveyard when Voldomort was reborn," she said. "So he played a part, but we just don't know exactly to which extent."

Draco nodded. "It still doesn't make sense. Crouch had been in Azkaban until his death. When did he escape?"

"We weren't exactly privy to everything that happened that night with Harry. So, I'm not completely sure."

Sitting back, Draco nodded and nibbled on his Cauldron Cake. "How did Crouch get into Hogwarts?"

"Used Polyjuice to disguise himself as our Defense professor."

"Professor Moody?" he asked. "We had a Deatheater as a professor all year?"

Hermione nodded. "The real Professor Moody was kept in Crouch's enchanted trunk."

Draco shivered. "Bloody hell," he said. "I hope that wanker got sent back to Azkaban."

"He got kissed," she said. "Fudge sent a dementor to kiss him."

Grimacing, Draco glanced out the window and shuddered. "Dementors give me the willies." Then, realizing his words, Draco gave Hermione a stern look. "You tell anyone I said that, and I'll hex you."

Hermione laughed. "Don't worry Draco. Your secrets are safe with me," she said dryly. Then, opening another Chocolate Frog, she once again changed the subject. "Have you figured out something for the summer?"

Swallowing his third Cauldron Cake, Draco nodded, reaching for another. "My father is going out of town the first week of July," he said. "My mother will cover for me."

"She will?"

"Of course she will," Draco said, staring at Hermione. "She's my mother."

Hermione nodded and smiled. "First week of July it is then."

Draco nodded and grabbed for another Cauldron Cake. Unwrapping it, he gave it a moment's hesitation before setting it down. "Ugh, I don't think I could eat anymore," he said, pressing his hand against his stomach.

"You've had four already. I'm surprised you haven't been sick yet."

Snorting, Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Please, Malfoys don't get sick," he said.

"Right, whatever you say, Draco," she said. "Do you want the rest of my butterbeer?" Hermione held up the nearly empty bottle for Draco to take, the remaining liquid sloshing around with the movement of the train.

"Sure," he said, taking the bottle and downing the liquid. Finishing it, Draco set the empty bottle down on the ground, laid back against the compartment wall, and groaned miserably. "Remind me never to eat four Cauldron Cakes in a row again," he requested, closing his eyes.

"Will do," she said, gathering the empty sweet wrappers in her hands and pocketing her last Chocolate Frog. "I need to head back to my compartment. Promise me that you'll owl me this summer."

Opening one eye, Draco nodded. "I will."

"Promise me, Draco," she said, staring at him from the compartment doorway.

"I promise, Granger," he said. "I will owl you over the summer." He held his wand hand over his heart. "Wizard's honor."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Must you always be this cheeky?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Must you always be this paranoid?"

"I am not paranoid," she said, stamping her foot indignantly before turning serious. "I'm just concerned…worried about you returning to the manor."

"I'll be fine," he said quietly.

"I hope so," she said.

Looking away, Draco ran his fingers through his mussed up hair. "You better go," he said, returning his gaze to the curly-haired girl still standing in the doorway. "Potter and Weasley are probably wondering where you'd gone off to."

Nodding, Hermione turned and closed the compartment door, giving it one last glance before returning to her own compartment. Arriving at the closed door, Hermione cocked her head to the side and gingerly stepped over the stunned bodies of Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, each with various boils covering their exposed flesh, and entered the compartment.

"May I ask why there are three stunned Slytherins outside our compartment?" she asked, sitting down beside Harry. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Their own fault," Harry said, his own assortment of sweets piled next to him.

"They had it coming, Hermione," Ron said around a handful of Bertie Bott's jelly beans. "Believe me."

"Right," she said, opening her last Chocolate Frog.

"So, where'd you go, Hermione?" Ron asked a moment later. "You were gone for an awfully long time."

"Had to go to the loo," she lied. "Then I talked to a few friends of mine from other houses."

Ron frowned. "You have friends from other houses?"

Jaw dropping in angered exasperation, Hermione scowled at him. "Of course I have friends from other houses, Ronald. Don't be so daft."

"Sorry," he muttered, flipping through a stack of Chocolate Frog cards.

Her lips twisting in slight disdain, Hermione sat back against the seat with her arms crossed, her mind reeling and crunching through the annoyance that Ron caused her. Casting her gaze out the window, her eyes locked onto a pair of startling green ones. Staring at Harry, she tilted her head to the side.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked, his intense stare unsettling her.

Blinking his eyes a few times, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "It's nothing, Hermione," he said.

And with his quiet words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione finished off the train ride in relative silence.


	17. Alius Latus Vita: Pars Partis Unus

**Author's Note – **Hello! Happy Summer! Ok, first, a little information about this chapter and the next one (chapter eighteen). I wrote seventeen and eighteen together as one chapter and then split them into two chapters because the one chapter was over fifty pages long. So, as you will figure out, this is the first half of Draco's stay at Hermione's house and eighteen will be the second half. These two chapters, while appearing to be acting as fillers, very cute fillers mind you, do have plot progression in them, chapter eighteen more so than seventeen. Vegan cookies to those who can guess which part/parts in chapter seventeen are a progression of the plot.

**Another Note – **The chapter title means "The Other Side of Life: Part One" in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter. The lucky woman who does is JKR.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Alius Latus Vita: Pars Partis Unus"

* * *

Summer came with the barely contained excitement and relief of nearly every schoolchild in England and beyond, no matter their Magical or Muggle upbringing. That was, of course, with the exception of one curly-haired witch released back into the Muggle World for the duration of the summer months. Summer homework seemed of utmost importance to Hermione, evident in the schoolbooks, parchments, and broken quills scattered about her bedroom. However, even that got pushed to the back of her mind the instant she woke on the first of July.

"Mum!" she called down the stairs, closing her bedroom door softly as she managed to tame her curls into a messy up-do. "We're going to be late."

"Hermione, dear," Mrs. Granger said from the kitchen, as she tended to breakfast cooking on the stove, "his train isn't scheduled to arrive for nearly two hours. We won't be late."

"But what if it's early?" she asked. "And we're not there to meet him, and he gets lost?"

"He won't get lost. If his train is early, I trust Draco to be wise enough not to wander off."

Hermione stared at her mother. "But it's Draco, Mum," she said as if that explained everything. "What if he starts insulting the Muggles?" Worry etched itself into Hermione's features. "We really should leave early."

Mrs. Granger turned and gave her daughter a smile. "Stop fretting, my dear. We have to leave early anyways. I have to stop off at the office; your father forgot his lunch," she said, walking over and dropping two steaming pancakes onto Hermione's plate. "Now, eat up!"

* * *

King's Cross Station swarmed with people coming and going. Hermione and her mother wove through the crowd, excitement and anticipation bubbling in her stomach, nearly overshadowing the anxiety gnawing at her gut. A month had nearly passed since the end of their fourth year and since the last time Hermione had seen Draco. He had owled her often over the past few weeks, and he seemed well enough. However, with Draco, one could never be absolutely sure. The night before, Hermione had woken from a dead sleep, the image of Draco, blood dripping from his body, swirling in her head. She had shaken off the disturbing image; however, the dream had planted a seed of doubt in her mind that had taken root, much to her discontent.

In the moment, however, all Hermione focused on were the empty train tracks before her and the anticipation of Draco's arrival. Platform ten buzzed with quiet activity, and Hermione waited alongside her mother. Finally, the large circular clock chimed eleven o'clock, and the train slid into the station, its breaks squeaking and groaning as the massive engine came to a stop. Doors opening, Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet, craning her neck and searching for the shock of blond hair she knew would belong to Draco. Passengers spilled from the open doors, and Hermione scattered them to the side in her mind as her eyes roamed for a familiar face.

He stepped off the train, the experience still whirling in his head, never having been around so many Muggles at one time, people frighteningly similar to him, yet differing in one crucial area: magic. They fascinated him, and a million questions formulated in his mind, questions he refrained from asking in lieu of politeness. Bag in hand, Draco peered over the heads of the people around him, his eyes locking on a familiar bushy-haired figure jumping up and down in the distance.

"Draco!" Hermione shouted, waving her arms in the air. "Oy, Draco!"

Making his way over, Draco grinned at her. "Hey, Hermione," he said, and then seeing her mother, he set his bag down and gave her a small bow. "Draco Malfoy, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Granger."

Harriet smiled. "The pleasure is mine, Draco," she said.

Hermione stifled a giggle as she watched Draco bow to her mother. Straightening back up, Draco glanced at her warily. "What?" he asked, glancing between Hermione and her mother.

"You just bowed to my mother," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

Draco's eyes flicked back and forth, his eyebrows drawn together in speculating confusion. "I was being polite," he explained, starting to wonder if bowing in the Muggle World meant something entirely different than it did in the Wizarding World. "Stop laughing at me," he demanded a moment later, crossing his arms in a mock pout.

Hermione's mother rested a hand on Hermione's back when her giggles showed no signs of ceasing. "Gather yourself together," she said, and then glanced at Draco. "Is this all you have, dear?" She gestured to his bag still sitting at his feet.

Draco picked the bag up. "Yes," he said.

Hermione quieted down and stared at the bag in wonderment. "That's all you brought?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes…"

"For a whole week?"

Again, he nodded. "For a whole week," he said.

"But it's so small," she commented, peering at the bag's apparent lack of volume.

Draco smirked. "Come on, Granger," he said, giving her an amused look. "Think about it…I'm a wizard."

"Oh, right." Laughing at herself, Hermione shook her head, realizing she should have known that his bag would be enchanted, as they walked out to the carpark and towards the car.

* * *

The Muggle World was nothing like the Wizarding World. This Draco realized the moment he stepped into Mrs. Granger's car. All his life, his father and the people around him had told him Muggles were a breed of filthy creatures inferior to him in every way possible. And the only reason given for this way of thought?

"Draco?"

Wizards had magic and Muggles did not. That reasoning had once sufficed as an explanation. However, now it did anything but justify Draco's way of thought.

"Draco?"

True, Muggles did not have magic, but they made up for it in the most ingenious of ways. The absence of magic didn't even seem to faze them.

"DRACO!"

Jerked out of his thoughts by a loud voice shouting in his ear, Draco looked at Hermione. "What?" he asked.

"You zoned out," she said. "I was just reeling you back in."

Draco gave her a blank look.

"Nevermind," she said, shaking her head and dismissing the topic with a wave of her hand. "What were you thinking about?"

Shrugging, Draco glanced at the trees lining the street. "Nothing important," he said.

Earlier that day, Hermione's mother had shooed them out of the house, claiming a nice day as such should be spent out of doors. So, Hermione had shown him around the neighborhood. She showed him the park she used to frequent when she was younger, her primary school, the public library, the public pool, the grocery store, and a strange building at the end of her street she called a gas station.

As they rounded the corner, heading down Hermione's street and back towards her house, she suddenly squealed and dashed off ahead. Draco followed, noticing three things. First, Mrs. Granger's small, blue car was now joined by a larger, black car. The door to the smaller house Draco vaguely remembered as a garage was open. And, finally, Hermione had seemed to have attached herself to a tall, brown-haired man.

Warily, Draco approached, knowing this man to be Hermione's father. Sensing his presence, her father looked up, a kind smile on his face.

"You must be the infamous Draco Malfoy," he said, humor dancing in his eyes.

Hastily thrusting his hand out, remembering at the last moment that bowing in the Muggle World wasn't proper greeting protocol, Draco shook Mr. Granger's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir," he said.

"Likewise, my boy," he said before turning to Hermione. "Why don't you go help your mum in the kitchen," he said, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "Draco and I are going to take some time to get to know each other."

"Ok," she said, sending Draco a look and a smile before disappearing through the side door, presumably leading to the kitchen.

Draco watched as she left, nervousness shining in his eyes, the rest of his persona trying and failing to hide the swell of emotions rising in his stomach.

Mr. Granger glanced down at Draco. He had said nary a word, and the boy seemed timid in his presence, a far cry from the picture his daughter had created of him in her earlier Hogwarts years. He'd picked up immediately that the boy was startlingly polite, something he hadn't seen in a teenager since he was Hermione's age. Quite a looker too, he mused, staring at the boy in question. No doubt in a few years Draco would be breaking hearts left and right. Mr. Granger wondered if something more than friendship would eventually develop between his daughter and Draco, any father's line of thought when a teenaged boy was involved.

He smiled down at Draco. "Draco, have you ever seen the intricate workings of a ham radio?" he asked, leading Draco into the garage, Draco wondering what, if anything, radios had to do with hams.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione poked her head back into the garage. The table was set for four and dinner sat waiting upon it. Her father and Draco stood side-by-side, both clearly engaged in the radio they were tinkering with. Leaning in close to her father, Draco craned his neck and pointed at something within the radio's case, his lips moving as he asked a question. Smiling excitedly, finally having someone in which to share his fascination with radios, Mr. Granger dutifully answered his question.

Hermione cleared her throat, a small, yet pleased, smile touching her lips. Her father and Draco glanced up. "Dinner's ready."

* * *

That night, Draco stood in the kitchen, dirty dishes from the dinner they had previously eaten stacked up on the counter. Hermione's mother busied herself at the sink, running the water and filling it with suds. In the living room, Mr. Granger flipped through the evening paper, his feet propped up on the table. Upstairs, water ran in a constant downpour, Hermione announcing it time for her nightly shower moments before.

Draco felt awkward, an emotion he barely recognized for he'd never had cause to be out of his normal environment. A Muggle's house seemed filled with objects that Draco couldn't even begin to understand their purpose. Take, for instance, the large white box with the two doors situated in the corner of the kitchen. It hummed constantly, a sound Draco could not find a source for. Several times he'd seen one of the Grangers open the doors on the box and stick their head into it, mumbling to themselves as if it were an object of great interest. He'd shaken his head at their actions, chalking it up to Muggle behavior. However, once, when his curiosity had prodded him, he'd opened the door himself when no one had been looking. The box contained food and a pleasantly cool atmosphere. Nothing too interesting about that, he figured.

And what was with all the tiny pieces of stiff paper, white on one side and black on the other, each with its own string of words written upon it, stuck to the front of the box? He had taken time earlier in the day to study the inscriptions on each and every piece, becoming puzzled very quickly.

_A watched pot…_

_…gathers no moss._

_…than never._

_Too many cooks…_

_A rolling stone…_

_Better late…_

Muggles had strange ways, he had concluded.

"Draco," Mrs. Granger called from the sink.

"Huh?" He looked up, slightly confused. Seeing her, he cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"Would you like to help me?" she asked. "You looked a little lost."

"Oh…um…I was…um…Hermione isn't…" he trailed off, suddenly aware that his face had turned beet red, much to his immense horror.

She smiled at him warmly. "Not to worry, my dear," she said, beckoning him forward with one soapy hand. "Hermione is the queen of showers. She'll be a while."

"Oh, ok," he said, coming to stand beside Hermione's mum. "What are you doing?"

"Washing dishes," she said with a smile, running a drinking glass beneath the faucet. She handed it to Draco and pointed to a towel left beside the sink. "Care to dry them as I wash them?"

"Sure," he said, carefully taking the glass from her hands. "Why do you have to wash the dishes?" He then realized the stupidity of his question. "I mean…well…you have to do them by hand?"

"Yep," she answered, handing him a bunch of silverware. "Although, some people have these big machines called dishwashers that do the job for them."

"Why don't you have one?" he asked, not seeing the logic in not having something that would certainly make life easier.

"Because Hermione's father and myself think putting a little elbow grease into it builds character," she said proudly, grinning at Draco beside her.

"Oh," Draco said, and then scratched his head. "What's elbow grease?"

Mrs. Granger's laughter rang through the kitchen. "You ask some of the most peculiar questions."

"I do?"

At that moment, the telephone began ringing, the loud and shrill noise sounding through out the house. Draco, startled by the noise, jumped, and much to his great horror, the soaking wet plate slipped from his fingers and shattered upon the kitchen floor. He froze and stared morosely at the angled bits of porcelain scattered about his bare feet.

"Oh dear," she said, the phone forgotten. "Don't move. I don't want you treading on any glass."

Draco stared at the ground, mortification growing in his belly.

"Everything all right in there?" Mr. Granger called from the living room.

"Quite all right, dear," Mrs. Granger called back. "We just broke a plate."

"Need any help?"

"No, I have it under control."

Draco glanced up at Mrs. Granger, his mouth open, trying to force anything out. Harriet looked at him and gave him a warm smile.

"It's quite all right, sweetheart," she said, bending down with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up the pieces with a few quick sweeps. "I wasn't very keen on that plate, anyways." With a wink towards Draco, she deposited the broken plate in the trash bin under the sink.

"Oh…well, I…um," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I…I can repay you."

Mrs. Granger shook her head. "There's no need. As I said, it's nothing to fret over," she said.

He nodded and watched Hermione's mother finish cleaning up. For some reason unknown to him, he felt compelled to supply her with an explanation to his ungraceful actions. "That noise…it…it," he said as if embarrassed, looking around the kitchen and at all the strange things scattered about, wondering what, if anything, could have made such a noise.

"Startled you?" Mrs. Granger finished for him with an understanding smile.

Draco glanced at her and nodded. "Yeah."

"It was merely the telephone," she said, Draco giving her a blank look. "That's right," she said to herself, bracing one hand on her hip, "no telephones in the Wizarding World."

"Did I miss anything?" Hermione appeared in the doorway, her hair damp and pulled back. A pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt acted as her pajamas.

Harriet smiled up at her daughter. "Nothing too exciting," she said. "Had a minor broken plate incident, but we took care of it."

Hermione looked up at Draco who shrugged and nodded. "Oh, it happens," she said. "Nothing to worry yourself over."

"That's what I've been telling him," she said.

"Yeah, well, he is a bit high strung," Hermione said with a smug, teasing grin.

Draco scoffed. "I am not high strung!"

"Yes, you are," she said as if it were fact.

Mrs. Granger smiled. "How about you two go sit down in the living room," she said. "I'll finish up in here."

The living room was dim, the only light coming from the lamp sitting beside Hermione's father as he read the paper.

"Hi daddy," Hermione greeted as she walked across the soft carpet and gave him a hug.

"Hello, darling," he smiled up at her and then nodded at Draco. "Draco."

Draco smiled. "Evening, Sir," he said.

"Mind if we watch the tele?" Hermione asked, plopping down on the overstuffed couch and grabbed the remote control sitting on the coffee table before her.

"Not at all," he said, folding up his paper and standing up. "I was going to go help your mother in the kitchen anyways."

"What's a tele?" Draco asked once Mr. Granger had left the room.

Hermione patted the cushion beside her. "Sit and I'll show you the wonders of Muggle technology."

"Muggle what-nology?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

She smiled. "Just shut it and watch." Pointing the remote at the television set, she pressed the large, red button, the set turning on with a soft click.

Jaw hanging open, Draco watched as a woman sitting behind a desk appeared, a stack of papers being shuffled in her hands.

"…and now back to Jim with our weather," she said with a too-cheery smile.

She disappeared, the screen turning black for a split second before a middle-aged man wearing a gray suit appeared standing before a map of England. "And the drought continues…"

Draco stared, his eyes wide with unabated wonder. "How…what…"

"It's called a television set," Hermione explained with a smile. "It's rather similar to the Wizarding Wireless. Except with a tele, you can see what is happening instead of just listening." Hermione pushed a button on the remote, the picture on the screen changing. "You can change channels and watch different things…like music videos…" Hermione changed the channel. "…cooking shows…" The channel changed once more. "…cartoons…stand-up comedy…nature shows…news…sports…drama…and nearly anything you can think of."

"That's bloody brilliant," he said in awe, his eyes glued to the tele.

"What do you want to watch?" she asked.

Draco glanced at her and then back at the television. "Um…what's this we're watching?"

"A detective show," she said, glancing at the clock. "It's just begun."

"Let's watch this," he said.

Hermione set the remote down and plunked her feet up on the table, settling back into the couch. Draco relaxed, crossing his legs Indian-style on the couch and let his back sink into the cushions, his posture not so nearly as sprawled out as Hermione's. The tele drew him in like a magnet, and he wondered why the Wizarding World didn't have a television equivalent. How could something as brilliant as a tele go unnoticed? While Muggles didn't have magic, they certainly were clever and inventive in their own way, Draco mused.

"Draco?" Hermione asked quietly during the commercial break.

He glanced over at her, the light from the television screen illuminating her face in an eerie glow. "Yeah."

"I'm glad you came over," she said, leaning her shoulder against his.

He smiled softly. "Me too."

* * *

Draco lay in bed that night, a single sheet covering his body. Fatigue weighed down on his mind, the train ride that morning and the day's events tiring him out. However, sleep refused to come, the sounds surrounding him feeling strange and out of place. Who knew muggle life could be so noisy? Especially at night when people supposedly turned in.

Turning over onto his back, Draco ran a hand over his face, his eyes straining to see in the darkness. To his right something moved, the sound of which shifted and began to hum. Sliding his gaze towards the noise, Draco became aware of his rapidly rising heartbeat as the sound continued, the hum of it startlingly close to where he lay. Searching the dark corners of the room, Draco wondered if his room laid habitat to a group of doxies, if not a gathering of pixies. However, he was nearly sure the Muggle World remained relatively free from wizarding creatures.

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to push the persistent noise from his mind. He was a Malfoy, and no noise, no matter how foreign, would chase him from a good night's sleep. However, when the noise suddenly increased in a sharp jut of a whoosh before dying down again, Draco soon found himself standing outside his room, his feet carrying himself quickly to Hermione's door.

Knocking softly, he cracked open her door. Thin threads of moonlight filtered in through the window, the remaining illumination being warded off by the heavy curtains. Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Draco spotted a curled up lump sleeping on the bed in the corner, a partially read book sitting open at the foot of her bed, and Crookshanks curled at her feet. "Granger?" he called softly.

When no answer came, Draco quietly slipped into her room. "Granger?" he said again, standing beside her bed. Reaching one hand out, he gently shook her. "Hermione, wake up."

"Mmm…" Rolling over, Hermione peeked open one eye. "Draco? What…what are you doing?"

Draco shifted on his feet as heat crept up his face. He felt grateful for the darkness surrounding them. "I think there's something in my room," he said.

"Nonsense," she mumbled, closing her eyes again. "It's just your imagination. Go back to sleep."

"Granger, I'm serious," he said. "There's something in my room. I heard it."

Hermione opened her eyes again, blearily rubbing them with one hand. Leaning over, she flicked on her bedside lamp. Soft light illuminated the room in contrasting light and dark. Sitting up, she stared at Draco, mild annoyance unsettling her stomach and hovering in her eyes. He stood before her, clad in a simple white t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair in disarray, the strands of which obscured his eyes.

"What did it sound like?" she asked.

"Kind of like…humming," he said. "Just come listen to it."

"Now?" she asked, yawning.

"Yes, now," he said, looking at her expectantly.

"Can't it wait until morning?"

Draco growled softly. "No, it can't wait until the morning, Granger," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just come and listen to it."

"Fine," Hermione said, climbing out of bed.

Once in Draco's room, she stood in the center of the room, her ears at high attention, straining to hear anything.

"I don't hear anything," she said, giving him a tired look.

"How can you not?" he asked, walking over towards the window. "It's right here."

Sighing, Hermione listened again. "Draco, I don't…" She stopped, finally hearing the humming Draco spoke of. Realizing the source of the noise, Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Draco, that's the air conditioning."

"The what?"

"Come here," she requested, getting down on her knees by the window.

Draco did as she asked.

"Put your hand here," she said, grabbing his hand and holding it over the vent in the floor. "Feel the cool air?" Draco nodded. "That's the air conditioning. It keeps the house cool in the summer."

Tilting his head to the side, Draco held both of his hands over the vent as the cool air hit his skin, chilling it before moving between his fingers and into the room. "Oh," he said. "But…but what about the other noise?"

"What other noise?" Hermione asked, getting to her feet. She sat down on his bed, looking up at him.

"It..it was a…" Draco looked up at the ceiling, tapping his chin in thought. "A whoosh," he said.

"A whoosh?" she asked.

He nodded, and in that moment the sound in question materialized. "That sound," he said, pointing towards the window.

Hermione smiled, amusement replacing the annoyance that had coated her stomach five minutes earlier. "Just a passing car," she said, standing up and heading for the door. "Go back to sleep, Draco."

Running his hand through his hair, Draco nodded sheepishly, embarrassment filling his face with color. Hermione, not noticing his blush due to the darkness, grinned at him and closed the door. Left to his own devices again, Draco sighed and returned to bed.

* * *

Tuesday morning, Hermione woke with vigor and readiness for the day. Darting out of bed, she crossed the hall and quietly entered Draco's room. Pale light washed the walls in diluted color, the corners still clinging to the darkness that had inhabited the room during the night. Tiptoeing over to his bed, an identifiable lump curled up under the sheets, she climbed onto the bed, her eyes trained on Draco, watching for any movement or indication that he was awake. An impish grin turned the corners of her lips as it reached her eyes, filling them with glee.

"Wake up, Draco! Wake up," she shouted, jumping up and down on his bed, her arms flailing up and down in delightful exertion. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

Draco's eyes snapped open, and he turned over, glaring at Hermione. "Granger, what in all bloody hell are you doing?" he asked, peeved at being woken up in such a manner.

Pausing, Hermione grinned. "Come on, wake up," she said with a large grin before leaping off of his bed and dashing out of his room with a giggle.

Hermione ran across the hall and back into her room, her cheeks rosy and her heart beating at a delightfully rapid pace. Barely a minute later, Draco appeared in her doorway, his hair sticking up in the back and his eyes bleary and half-open.

"Why am I up?" he demanded petulantly.

"We're going to the pool," she said, turning towards her dresser.

"The pool?"

"Yes," she said, rummaging around for her bathing suit. Draco stared at her, and Hermione looked up at him demandingly. "Well, come on! Go get your swim trunks."

Sighing, Draco turned and traipsed back to his room.

* * *

By the time noon had rolled around, Hermione and Draco finally began the walk to the public pool five blocks away from her house. The sun shone brightly, waves of heat rising from the street in the distance. To their right, a car quietly passed. Draco watched as it drove on, craning his head behind him until it turned and disappeared from sight.

"Did you see that car?" he asked, glancing at Hermione.

"What car?" She glanced at him, her eyebrows raised.

"The one that just passed," he said. "It had no roof."

Hermione looked behind her. "I don't see any cars."

"It turned," he explained. "Is it supposed to have no roof?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" he asked, running his hands along the terry cloth towel slung around his neck. "Wouldn't it be more logical to have a roof? What if it rained?"

"It has a roof," she said. "They just either took it off or it folded into the back of the car."

"They folded it into the back of the car?" he asked incredulously, his jaw hanging open. "How does it fit?"

"It's designed to fold up really small so that it fits," she said.

"Oh," he said thoughtfully.

Hermione glanced at him and smiled, swinging the small, purple knapsack she held in her hand. Gazing up at the sky, she squinted and shaded her eyes from the noonday sun. Draco glanced up as well.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "Just looking." She passed him a quick smile.

"How far is this pool?" he asked.

"About another block," she answered.

Two teenagers rode by on bikes, towels around both of their necks.

"Are they going to the pool?" Draco asked.

"I suppose."

"Do you know them?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side, studying the backs of the two girls riding ahead of them. "Umm…I don't know. I might."

They arrived at the pool, Hermione guiding Draco into the entrance and joining the line of kids waiting to pay and enter.

"Why are we waiting in line?" Draco asked, peering over the heads of everybody in line.

"We have to pay," she said.

"Why?" he asked. "I…I didn't bring any money."

"Well, we pay because that's how they make money," she explained simply. "And don't worry, I have money."

"Granger," he said, looking over at her as they took a few steps forward. "You don't have to pay for me."

"It's no problem," she said. Draco peered at her through his wispy, blond bangs, indecision passing through his eyes. "Really, Draco, it's no problem. Plus, your money wouldn't work here," she whispered as they stepped up to the counter.

Handing over a few notes to the boy working the counter, Hermione turned and started walking towards the girl's locker rooms. Then, she stopped and turned around abruptly, Draco directly behind her. Reaching out, she grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. "Your locker room is that way," she said, giving him a gentle shove.

"That way?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, the boys and the girls are separated," she explained. "Go on, I'll meet you on the other side."

Glancing back at her, slightly unsure of himself, he disappeared around the corner. Hermione walked through the small locker room, emerging into the bright sunshine on the other side, and waited for Draco.

"There are people taking showers in there," he said incredulously as he appeared from the boys' locker room. "Out in the open!"

Hermione laughed. "They're just rinsing off."

"Muggles," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he followed Hermione across the pool deck.

She stopped alongside the edge of the pool among a myriad of people lounging on deckchairs and towels. Spreading out her towel on the concrete ground, Draco doing the same, she dropped her bag. She kicked off her flip flops and shimmied out of her shorts before stooping down to rifle through her bag.

"Here," she said, standing back up and facing Draco, a tube of sunscreen open and directed at him.

Draco stared at it. "What?"

"Hold out your hand."

He did as he was told, and Hermione squeezed a good sized dollop of the creamy white paste into the palm of his hand. Grimacing, he tentatively brought his hand to his face and sniffed the sunscreen delicately. "What is it?" he asked, glancing up at Hermione.

"Sunscreen," she said, smearing a good sized amount onto her arms.

"And…what do I do with it?" he asked.

"Rub it into your skin," she said, holding up her arms as if the answer should be obvious.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're mental if you think I'm going to do that."

"Just do it," she said, paying mind to her shoulders.

"Um, how about no," he said.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Hermione stepped towards him, grabbed his hand and scooped up the sunscreen, smearing it down his arm in one fell swoop. "I'll not have you sunburned," she said. "You're as pale as can be."

"Granger!" he exclaimed, holding his arm away from himself. "This is positively disgusting."

"Oh suck it up you baby," she said with a smile.

"You Muggles are barmy," he said quietly, poking a finger into the whiteness still smeared along his arm. "And don't call me a baby," he added as an afterthought.

"Then don't be one," she countered.

Rolling his eyes, Draco began rubbing the sunscreen into his skin, sneering all the while. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.

"You'll thank me later," she said before turning around, handing him the tube of sunscreen over her shoulder. "Will you do my back?"

Draco paused in the middle of lathering up his legs and looked up. "Do your back?"

"I can't reach," she said.

"I suppose," he said, grabbing the tube from her.

"Thank you," she said, pulling her hair over her shoulder as Draco squirted some cream into his hand.

Stepping up to Hermione, he hesitated, staring at the already tan skin of her back showing between the straps of her one-piece. His heart pattered momentarily, the feeling descending into his stomach in the form of tiny butterflies, and Draco frowned before brushing the feeling away. Shaking his head, Draco gently swept his hand across Hermione's back, leaving a trail of sun cream across her skin. Then, going in small circles, he rubbed it into her skin until it all but disappeared.

Finished, Draco snapped the top back on the tube and handed it to Hermione.

"Turn around," she said, sun lotion already in her hand. "I'll get your back."

Eyeing her for a moment, Draco faced the other way, his heart once again performing small leaps in his chest. Draco frowned, confusion clouding his mind, and he swept the feeling away as Hermione began applying sunscreen to his back.

She began near his shoulder blades, both hands spreading the cream across his upper back. "Look down," she said softly, and he complied, Hermione reaching up to get the back of his neck.

Getting more sun cream, Hermione tilted her head to the side and spread the lotion across his lower back, gently rubbing it in until no trace of it remained. Finishing his back, Hermione smiled. "All finished," she said, her voice chipper.

Draco glanced back, his eyes locking upon hers, a small smile catching the corners of his lips. "Thanks," he said, feeling as if the entire world had just shrunk to include only the two of them. However, the moment Hermione grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the water, the rest of the world snapped back into existence.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione and Draco returned to their towels, the long and drawn out whistle from the lifeguards signaling a mandatory respite for all.

"Why is everybody leaving the pool?" Draco asked, wrapping his towel around his waist and sitting down beside Hermione.

"It's break time," she said, fanning her hair out around her head as she lay down on her towel.

"Break time?"  
"Yes," she said. "Everybody has to take a break."

"But I don't need a break," he said. "I'm not even tired."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes as she folded her arms beneath her head. "Other people might be tired, Draco," she said.

"But I'm not," he said petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest as he sneered at the red-clad lifeguards in the distance. "I shouldn't have to leave the bloody pool."

"Draco, those are the rules. I didn't make them," she said tiredly. "There's nothing you can do. So why don't you just shut up and relax? Ok? Draco?"

When no answer came from him, Hermione peeked open her eyes, sitting up abruptly, Draco no longer in sight. Casting her eyes around as panic bubbled in her stomach, Hermione searched for Draco, images of the sorts of trouble he could have gotten himself into clawing at the edges of her thoughts.

"Oh no," she groaned a minute later.

Getting to her feet, Hermione strode across the concrete, her bare feet slapping against the ground. Anger brewed in her mind as she approached Draco. He stood across the way, his hands fisted at his sides, his shoulders tensed, and anger darkening his eyes. The lifeguard facing him regarded him coolly, his hands propped on his trimmed waist, superiority and authority creating an aura around his body.

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione shouted, her eyes blazing in embarrassment and anger as she grabbed his arm and pulled him away. "I'm so terribly sorry," she muttered to the lifeguard as she pulled Draco away.

"Granger! Let me go," he demanded, trying to pull his arm out of her grip. "This is utter ridiculousness."

"I will not have you strutting around here causing trouble," she said, arriving back at their towels. Hermione pointed to Draco's towel. "Sit," she bit out.

"I am not a dog, Granger."

Hermione growled. "_Sit…down._"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "I will not take orders from you."

"Yes, you will," she said, forcing him down to the ground with strength that surprised him. "Now, sit and be a good boy," she said lying back down.

"Yes, Mother," he quipped, burning holes in the concrete with his eyes.

The two sat in silence until a whistle signaling to the public that swimming had commenced once again screeched through the air.

Draco's head snapped up. "What does that mean?" he asked, his eyes following the hundreds of other people returning to the pool, his legs already pushing his body up.

Hermione stood up, adjusting the straps of her suit. "It means we can return to the pool," she said, following him as he bounded upwards and dashed off, excitement flashing in his eyes. She laughed and shook her head in good humor at his antics, but came up short when Draco halted, his hands waving around to catch his balance.

"What are they doing?" he asked, pointing to a line of people ascending a series of steps.

Hermione turned in his pointed direction. "Diving board," she explained simply, walking around him and towards the pool.

"Blimey!" he shouted, reaching out to grab her arm. "They have a diving board? We have no diving board at the Manor. Merlin knows I've begged father for one, but he says they are frivolous." Draco chatted on, quickly following the people towards the smaller pool of water, three long diving boards of varying heights catering to the lines quickly forming around the edge of the pool.

"Draco," Hermione said, trying to pull him in the opposite direction. "I really don't fancy deep water. I'll just watch you," she said, spotting a smattering of people sitting around the edge of the pool with their eyes trained upon those leaping into the water with their limbs jutting out into various aeronautically inefficient directions.

"Nonsense, Granger," he said, getting into line. His eyes followed the people dashing along the diving boards. "This looks positively fabulous." A smile formed upon his face as he watched, the small bounce forming in his stance playing evidence to his heightened excitement.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know…"

Draco looked down at her. "Come on, Granger," he said, his voice bordering on pleading. "Take a risk for once in your life. You need to take more risks."

She propped her hands on her hips. "I take risks."

"Being friends with Potter and Weasley don't count."

"And why not? We take plenty of risks. What about all of our adventures?"

He shook his head, dismissing her comment with a flick of his hand. "Those weren't risks," he said. "They were…were…" He smiled. "…bouts of utter stupidity brought on by Potter's inability to keep his nose out of other people's business." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco beat her to it. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger. I wasn't serious," he said. "Anyways, those 'adventures'…" He created quotation marks in the air. "…as you call them, still don't count."

"And why not?"

"Because I say so," he said smugly. "And because I want you to jump off the diving board."

"Why?"

"Because…"

"I'm not doing it," she said defiantly.

"Please, Granger?"

"No."

Draco sidled up to her. "Please?"

"No," she said, looking the other way.

He poked her deftly in the side. "Please?" he asked, smiling when she squeaked.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, determined not to give in. "No."

Walking his fingers up her arm, Draco tickled the back of her neck. "Please, Granger," he asked. "For me?"

Hermione twitched and forced down a smile, sensing her resolve quickly crumbling. "No."

Draco grinned. "Pretty please with treacle tart on it?" he asked, his hand grabbing hers and pulling upon it pleadingly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, staring at him, the corner of her mouth wanting to pull upwards. She sighed inwardly. "Don't I get a cherry on top?" she asked with a certain wryness in her voice.

"If you want," he said smiling. "Does this mean you'll do it?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes."

With a leap of a cheer, Draco beamed happily at Hermione, his eyes shinning like polished sliver. They reached the diving boards, Draco barely able to contain his utter joy at jumping off of a stationary object and into a pool of water. The idea was novel to him, utter genius, and the niftiest thing since automated brooms. They picked the two shorter diving boards, the tall middle one having the longest line and Hermione putting up a fuss at the prospect of being so high up in the air.

Draco scampered up the ladder and glanced over to where Hermione still stood upon the ground, her hands gripping the metal ladder rungs and her curly mop of hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. "Come on, Granger," he said.

Hermione looked over to him, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Then, with a deep breath, she climbed up the ladder, nervousness shaking each breath she took. When she reached the last rung, Hermione carefully transferred herself to the long diving board set out before her, each step hesitant and wobbly.

She glanced at Draco as he looked at her. "You ready?" he asked, his toes gripping the very edge of the board.

Hermione nodded, digging within herself for the Gryffindor courage she knew she would need if she were to leap off of the board and land in the water that seemed so far below.

"Ok," Draco said, glancing at Hermione with a ridiculously large grin on his face. "One…" He bent his knees, ready to jump. Hermione stared at the water warily. "Two…" Draco tucked his hands close to his body. She shifted on her feet, the ladder behind her calling her name, wanting her to get down from that board. "Three!" Draco threw himself off of the diving board, tucking his legs close to his body, the force of him hitting the pool creating a wall of water that shot straight up into the air. Hermione watched him land before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and timidly hopping into the water, her fingers squeezing her nose closed.

Hermione hit the water, her splash of a considerably lesser degree of spectacular than Draco's was. However, as she kicked to the surface, the nervousness that had surrounded her previously faded into the cool water surrounding her. And as she resurfaced, swatting away the hair that had gotten into her eyes, she grinned at Draco with exhilaration in her eyes.

"Let's do that again!"

* * *

That night, Hermione and Draco lounged on her front porch, popsicles currently in the process of being eaten, orange for Hermione and lime-green for Draco. Dinner had been a simple affair: spaghetti, salad, and a generous amount of jesting over the amount of food that could fit into an adolescent boy's stomach.

The day's heat had been beaten back to a more tolerable degree by the setting of the sun, now a barely recognizable globe of light hiding among the trees across the street. Cicadas buzzed off in the distance, the constant fluctuating hum a constant reminder of the lazy summer days they had to look forward to. With a contented sigh, Draco leaned forward, his elbows propped up upon his knees, and smiled.

Behind him, Hermione leaned back on her hands, her popsicle devoured and thoroughly enjoyed, the faintly stained stick laying beside her. A cooling breeze rustled the trees, filtering down to them, brushing against their skin and combing gently through their hair. Hermione closed her eyes and smiled.

Craning his neck around, Draco stared at her – at the soft curls framing her face, the softness of her skin, the small button nose sprinkled with a few tiny freckles that had appeared the other day, and the easy way that smiles came to her. His heart jumped in his chest, the feeling not wholly unfamiliar, but definitely confusing. Turning back around, Draco frowned, resting his chin in his hand, thoughts running through his head, each as convoluted and unclear as the next. His stomach twisted, not in fear and not in anger, but in simple realization of the fact that something was occurring, something he apparently wasn't privy to in his own being.

"Draco?" Hermione sat up, her eyes wide with alarm. "Do you smell smoke?"

Sniffing the air, Draco shook his head. "No."

Hermione stood. "I do," she said, hopping down the few steps leading down to the ground. "Something's on fire." She turned and poked quickly through the bushes decorating the exterior of her house, her nose leading her like a _Point Me_ spell.

Draco followed her, testing the air. "I still don't smell anything."

Frowning, Hermione glanced back at him. "I did," she said, turning and heading back to the porch steps. "I'm sure of it…right here." She gestured to the steps where they previously lounged. Leaning down, she gave the steps two quick sniffs and frowned. "I know I smelled smoke." She glanced up at Draco. "Are you sure you didn't smell anything?"

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said.

Biting her bottom lip, Hermione propped her hands on her hips. "I know what I smelled," she said. "I'm not barmy."

Draco smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't know about that," he drawled.

"Oh, shut it," she said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

He chuckled and sat down. "Come on, Granger," he said. "Your overactive mind probably just imagined it."

Sighing, she rejoined him on the steps until the light from the sun all but disappeared from sight.


	18. Alius Latus Vita: Pars Partis Duo

**Author's Note – **My, aren't you lucky. Two updates in less than a week. The stars must be in your favor. Either that or I got chapter nineteen written nearly all last night. What can I say? When my muse wants writing…he gets writing. This is a cute chapter that borders on sad at some parts. Again, search for plot progression clues. There are more clues in this chapter to one HUGE plot thread. Oh, and as always…REVIEW! Tell me what your favorite part of this chapter was.

**Another Note – **I'm sure you can guess what this chapter's title means. But for those who can't, it means "The Other Side of Life: Part Two" in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter. Oh, and I also don't own Somerfield Grocery. I'm not sure who the honors go to for that one, but it sure isn't me.

As always…

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Alius Latus Vita: Pars Partis Duo"

* * *

"Let's make biscuits," Hermione announced Wednesday morning after breakfast had been cleared away.

Draco cocked his head to the side and stared at her strangely. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because it's fun," she said, reaching up into one of the cupboards, a large mixing bowl appearing in her hand a moment later.

"But couldn't you just go to the store and buy some?" he asked, standing in the middle of the kitchen as Hermione went from cupboard to cupboard, retrieving various items and setting them on the counter.

"I could," she said, setting a canister of flour down. "Could you get the eggs out of the fridge, please?"

"Then why don't you?" he asked, opening the refrigerator door, searching for the eggs, his eyes not finding what they sought out. "Granger, I don't see any eggs."

"Because making them ourselves is a whole lot more fun," she said, edging right up next to Draco, her hip budging up against his. Peering into the fridge and moving a jar of this or a container of that out of the way, she frowned. "I swear I saw some earlier this morning. Well, we'll have to go to the market then," she said, closing the door.

* * *

Somerfield Grocery stood along the main road, large signs posted in the windows announcing store specials and half-off deals. Hermione ushered Draco through the door, his eyes bulging as the sliding glass doors opened on their own accord.

"How do they do that?" he asked, watching as a woman, carrying a small child on one arm and a paper bag of food in her other, exited the store, the doors opening and closing on their own as she left.

"There's a motion sensor up there," she explained, pointing upwards at a small black box mounted above the door. "Every time somebody steps into its path, the doors open."

"Really?" Draco asked, moving away from her and sticking one foot out towards the door. To his delight, the doors whooshed open, closing as he retracted his foot.

"Come on, Draco," Hermione said, grabbing his hand as he began hopping back and forth, the door opening and closing according to his movement. "People are staring."

Draco glanced around, the people returning to what they previously had been doing, his well placed scowl helping those along who couldn't take a hint.

"What are these for?" Draco asked, wandering towards a row of shinning, metal carts. He ran his hand over the handle, gripping it, and pulled, the cart coming loose from the others.

"For putting groceries into," she said, a small basket thrown over her arm. "But we only need eggs, Draco." She held up her basket. "This will do."

Draco regarded the basket for a brief moment. "I like the cart better," he said. "Put the basket back."

"Other people might need to use the carts," she said. "We don't need many things. The basket will do."

"No," he said, walking away with the cart pompously. "I want the cart."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione set the basket down and followed Draco, claiming control of the cart as she budged him out of the way with a gentle nudge from her hip. Draco released his hold, pleased at obtaining the cart, and walked alongside Hermione. Turning down an aisle, a synthetically-made chill brushing up against their skin, Hermione stopped in front of a refrigerated case.

"Why are they all in boxes?" he asked, picking up a carton of eggs.

"It's how they're sold." Hermione grabbed one and opened the lid, inspecting a few eggs. Unsatisfied, she closed the carton and chose another to look at.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, watching her actions.

"Checking for broken eggs," she said.

Draco reached for a carton of eggs and opened it, his eyes growing wide. "Granger!" he exclaimed, looking up at her. "These eggs are brown."

Hermione peered over his shoulder and at the carton of brown eggs. "They are," she said with a smile.

"How do they make brown eggs?" he asked as Hermione placed a carton of generic, white eggs into the cart.

"It depends on the chicken," she said.

"Oh," Draco said, then with a moment's thought, he reached into the cart and replaced the carton of white eggs with his carton of brown eggs. "We should get the brown eggs."

"Why? The white eggs are exactly the same as the brown ones," she said, putting her carton of white eggs back in the cart.

"But I like the brown eggs," he said, his carton of eggs held expectantly in his hand. Then, his thoughts diverting slightly, he cocked his head to the side. "Are the insides also brown?" he asked. Hermione shook her head. "Oh," he said, staring at his carton of eggs. "Can't we get them anyways?"

Sighing, Hermione ruffled her hair and nodded. "I guess," she said, putting her eggs back on the refrigerated shelf.

Draco grinned triumphantly as they left the refrigerated aisle and headed towards the checkout lanes. However, they were cut short by a loud and disembodied voice.

"Price check, aisle five," it announced, Draco freezing mid-step, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in shock. "Repeat, price check, aisle five."

"What in all bloody hell was that?" he asked, casting his eyes around, searching for the source of the voice.

"The announcing system," she said, Draco giving her a blank look. "It's a way for the store employees to communicate with one another."

"Oh," he said and then added, "What's a price check?"

"It means one of the store employees needs to know the price of an item," she explained as she arrived at the checkout lanes. Reaching over, she grabbed the plastic divider stick and set it down between her eggs and the items that belonged to the woman in front of them.

Curiosity driving him, Draco immediately picked up the plastic divider. "What's this for?" he asked, studying the divider as if it were a particularly interesting potions ingredient.

"It keeps separate my groceries from the groceries of the person in front of and behind me," she said. "Put it back, will you?"

Setting the stick back on the conveyor belt, Draco glanced around at the magazines and sweets being sold at the checkout lane. Picking up one of the magazines, he raised his eyebrows at the bold headline splashed across the cover.

**TOURIST SPOTS LOCHNESS MONSTER!**

Below the headline, three spectacularly blurry photos were displayed, each showing a different angle of the same mute, gray blob poking out from the top of the water. Snorting, Draco shoved the magazine into Hermione's line of vision as the girl at the checkout counter rang up the carton of eggs.

"Muggles believe this utter nonsense?" he asked.

Hermione glanced at the magazine as she rummaged around in her purse, looking for a few coins. "Yeah, I know," she said. "They also believe all that rubbish about the Yeti. Now, will you keep it down until we get outside?" She handed over several coins to the girl, the girl's expression playing to the curiosity that had piqued due to Draco's comment. "You're raising suspicion."

Nodding, Draco watched as Hermione took her eggs from the bag boy and followed her out of the store.

* * *

"So, all these things go into making biscuits?" Draco asked later that day as he stood in the kitchen, an assortment of ingredients lined up on the counter.

"Yep," Hermione said, drying her hands on a towel.

"Why do we need so many?" he asked.

"Because they all play a different part in making a biscuit," she said. Then, grabbing the large mixing bowl and two sticks of butter, she dropped the butter into the bowl, cutting up each stick into several smaller chunks. "For instance, the butter helps make the biscuit flaky and crumbly."

"Oh," he said. "How about this?" He held up a canister of brown sugar.

Hermione smiled. "That's brown sugar," she said dryly. "What do you think it does?"

Grinning sheepishly, an expression Hermione found odd yet strangely endearing to Draco, he ruffled his hair. "Right," he said. "I knew that."

She handed him a small measuring cup. "Do you want to add three scoops to the bowl?"

"Sure," he said, popping open the container and reaching in with the measuring cup. Coming out with brown sugar mounded up high in the cup, he went to dump it in the bowl but paused with Hermione stopped him.

"Wait," she said, reaching over to touch his arm. "You have to pack it down."

"Pack it down?"

"With your fingers," she explained, pushing the brown sugar into the measuring cup with the pads of her thumbs. "See?"

"Why do you have to pack it down?" he asked, dumping the rest of the brown sugar into the bowl.

"Just to make sure you have an exact amount," she said, glancing at the small recipe written on the back of the bag of chocolate chips. "Ok, now the eggs."

"Can I do the eggs?" he asked, grabbing for the carton sitting to his left.

"Sure," she said, studying the recipe. "We need two."

Grabbing two brown eggs from the carton, Draco deftly dropped them into the bowl. "Now what?" he asked, looking up at Hermione. Hermione stared at the bowl's contents, her head shaking slowly back and forth. Draco cocked his head to the side. "What?"

Hermione continued to shake her head as she laughed, tears of mirth shining at the corners of her eyes.

"What?!" Draco asked

"You're supposed to crack the eggs into the bowl," she said, glancing at him.

"Crack them into the bowl?" he asked. "Why ever would I do that?"

"Because that's how it's done," she said, reaching in and plucking the two eggs from the bowl. "Watch," she instructed, tapping one of the eggs on the counter top, the shell cracking. Then, holding the egg over the bowl, she dug her thumbs into the crack, the eggs splitting open and its contents dropping into the butter and brown sugar. "Wanna have a go at it?" she asked, handing him the other egg.

Holding the egg grasped in his hand, Draco gave Hermione one hesitant glance before smashing the egg on the counter top. "Oops," he said, gooey egg splattering onto the surface and running between his fingers. Picking his hand up, slimy remnants of the egg dripping from his fingers, Draco pulled a face. "Oh, gross," he said.

Hermione laughed, prodding him towards the sink with her finger. "Go wash your hands," she said, wiping up the mess with a paper towel.

Hands clean and dried, Draco returned, Hermione handing him another egg. "Are you sure?" he asked, regarding the small, brown egg with trepidation and caution.

"Of course," she said. "Just this time don't smash it down on the counter. And it might be easier if you just tap it on the side of the bowl."

"Ok," he said. "If you say so." Holding the other egg in the palm of his hand, his fingers wrapped around it, he gently tapped it against the edge of the bowl, the contact of the egg on glass making hardly any noise.

"A little harder, Draco," she said.

Biting his lip, Draco did as she instructed. And to his surprise, and delight Hermione managed to notice, the egg cracked, nearly splitting itself in two.

"Ok, put your thumbs into the crack and pull it apart…over the bowl mind you," she added.

Shoving his thumbs into the egg, grimacing in disgust, he ripped the egg apart, its insides sliding into the bowl, joining the other egg. "What do I do with this?" he asked, holding up the eggshell.

"Trash," she said, gesturing towards the cupboard under the sink, picking up two wooden spoons and handing one to Draco. "Now we have to stir this." Gripping the spoon, she began smashing the butter, eggs, and brown sugar together, a mottled cream and brown mixture forming, when the phone rang.

"What's that?" Draco asked, looking up as Hermione crossed the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"The telephone, remember?" she answered with a wry smile.

"Oh, right," he said.

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Hello?" she spoke into the phone, immediately pulling the receiver as far away from her ear as she could and grimaced. "Great Merlin, Ron, you don't have to shout…It's ok …Ron…remember, it's _telephone_ not _fellytone_…Uh huh…"

Draco looked up at Hermione with an amused look in his eyes and she met his eyes.

"Keep stirring that," she told Draco, nodding her head to the bowl beside him. "What? No, I wasn't talking to you," she said to Ron.

Finding the conversation already amusing by itself, never mind the fact that it was with Ron Weasley, Draco turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, the mixing bowl propped against his stomach as he mixed the butter, eggs, and brown sugar absentmindedly. His eyes watched Hermione as she played with the coiled cord and stared at her bare feet, each toenail painted a delicate purple color.

"Just a friend," she said, leaning against the wall. She looked up at Draco, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Ron. He's just helping me make biscuits." Hermione sighed. "No, you don't know him. Yes, he's just a friend." Draco laughed to himself. "Yes…no…I don't know…Honestly, Ron, I don't see why this is of any concern to you…Yeah, I know that," she said softly. "I know that, Ron."

Finished with his stirring, Draco set the bowl down and approached Hermione, mischief in his eyes.

Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye. "Um, I think the first week of Aug-" Hermione jerked slightly as Draco poked her in the ribs, a devilish smirk on his face. "Sorry about that," she said, glaring at Draco. "The first week of August. Yeah, my mum owled your mum about that…I don't know about Harry…That's up-" Hermione sent Draco another glare, this one packed with heat blazing from her eyes. "Quit it would you? No, Ron, not you…never mind that. Anyways, that's up to Dumbledore…I hope so. I hate knowing he's with those Muggles…But there's nothing we can do, Ron…No, we're not doing that…Because your mum'll have kittens if she finds out…Ron, I- OW!"

Ripping the phone away from her ear, Hermione turned towards Draco. "What is your problem?" she asked of him, rubbing her ribs, only to receive a triumphant smirk in return.

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes in exasperation, Hermione put the phone back up to her ear. "No, Ron, I'm fine…My friend's just being a total wanker…No, I can handle him," she said, sending Draco a look. In return, he chose to appear innocent, a placid smile upon his face and his head tilted to the side. "Yeah, ok…I'll talk to you later then…Bye, Ron."

Hanging up the phone, Hermione immediately rounded on Draco. "Why must you be the epitome of annoying?" she demanded, smacking him lightly on the arm.

He shrugged his shoulders. "My amusement happens to come in many forms," he said smugly.

She rolled her eyes and returned to making biscuits. "Honestly, sometimes I think I'm dealing with a seven-year-old…not a fourteen-year-old," she said.

"I'm fifteen, thank you very much," he said, crossing his arms petulantly.

"Right," she said looking at the ceiling. "Of course, how could I forget? You owled me eight times that week, each one a reminder of your approaching birthday."

"I wanted to make sure you didn't forget," he explained, sending her a brilliant smile.

Hermione snorted and shook her head.

Barely half an hour later, Draco kneeled before the oven, his eyes keeping watch on the batch baking in the oven.

"When are they going to be finished?" he asked.

"In about five minutes," she said, sitting in one of the chairs and watching him with amusement.

Draco glanced back at her. "Five minutes? Why so long?"

She smiled. "Because it takes time, Draco."

"I feel bad for Muggles," he mumbled. "They have to wait so long for biscuits."

"But the wait is well worth it," she said.

Nodding, Draco returned his gaze to the oven. "Why are they growing?"

"Huh?" she asked, joining him down on the floor.

"They're growing," he said, pointing to the biscuits that were rising slightly.

"The baking powder," she explained. "Remember?"

"Oh, right." He nodded.

"Now how long?"

Getting up onto her knees, Hermione cracked the oven open, a swell of heat escaping and hitting her face. "Move back," she said to Draco, gently pushing him back as he leaned forward to look.

"Why?" he asked petulantly.

"I don't want you to burn yourself," she said.

Draco opened his mouth in appalled shock. "I will not do something as juvenile as burn myself," he said. "I just want to see."

Grabbing his hand, Hermione held up one of his fingers as evidence to her argument. "And what would you call this?" she asked, pointing to the angry, red mark marring his perfect skin.

Reclaiming his hand defiantly, Draco stuck his nose to the ceiling. "An unfortunate incident," he said. "Who knew the oven would be hot when we put the biscuits in?"

"Any Muggle with common sense," she said dryly.

"Shut up!" he bit out, feeling undignified at the moment.

She smiled sweetly, Draco still smoldering, and shut the oven door, getting to her feet. "Either way, the biscuits are going to need another few minutes."

Draco simply glared at her from the floor.

* * *

"I like it here," Draco mused Thursday afternoon as they sat on the swings in the small park down the street. Tightening his grip on the chain, Draco glanced at Hermione and smiled. "It's peaceful."

Hermione sat facing Draco, her legs straddling the swing and her toes buried in the sand, having kicked off her sandals earlier. Putting a little momentum into her swing, she gently bumped Draco. "I do too," she said, grabbing a hold of his swing. "I used to come here all the time when I was younger."

Draco nodded and rested his forehead against the chain, bringing his face within mere centimeters of hers. Across the street, a mother crossed the street pushing a baby buggy. She pushed on across the grass and came to a stop beside the sandbox. A little boy, barely two years of age, scrambled out of the buggy and ran shrieking around the park as his mother collapsed tiredly into one of the benches.

"My mother used to take me to the park when I was younger," he said, watching the little boy.

Hermione glanced behind her. "Yeah?" she said, her words merely acting as encouragement for him to continue speaking.

He nodded and smiled. "Father would be out for most of the day, and we would go." He smiled sadly, his clear, silver eyes staring into Hermione's kind, brown ones. "It was our secret."

"Do you still get on with your mother?" she asked.

Sighing heavily, Draco looked away. Letting him have a moment to himself, Hermione studied the boy sitting beside her. Draco had always been handsome, with his soft, blond hair, athletic build, and captivating eyes. However, there was much more to Draco Malfoy than his good looks. He had a heart. Just like anybody else, he felt joy, despair, excitement, and pain, the whole range of emotions. And Hermione couldn't imagine how somebody could hurt him, make him feel trapped in his own world with no way out, let alone his own father.

She used to think him a monster, the walls he had put up preventing her from seeing the person he was. Yet, looking at him now, at the way the wind rustled his hair, at the far off look in his eyes, and at the way his toes dragged in the sand, he couldn't have seemed more human to Hermione.

Glancing up at him, she gently ran her fingers over his own grasping the chain, wanting to draw him out of his thoughts.

Draco glanced up at Hermione and sighed. "My mother and I…we…we merely coexist. Once I was old enough to sit and have lessons, my father took over my life." Hermione continued running her fingers over his hand, smoothing the skin at his knuckles. "I barely remember the park, just enough to know we used to go there. It's like she's a ghost," he said as Hermione ran over the smooth skin of his wrist, his veins a stark contrast to his skin. "She's there, but not there all at the same time."

Draco sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging and his eyes closing at the exact moment Hermione's nose registered the smell of smoke. Inhaling deeply, the scent was thick and nearly chocking. It permeated the air, overwhelming her senses. Furrowing her brow, Hermione filed away the observation for a later time.

Overhead, big, black storm clouds began rolling in, obscuring the sun and casting the playground in an eerie dimness, an unnatural calm. Hermione glanced up at the sky and at the mother hurrying to collect her son, her own eyes watching the sky.

Draco ground his teeth together as the melancholy he had woken up with that morning washed over him. "Granger, I don't want to go home." He opened his eyes as ozone drifted through the park and thunder rolled through the clouds, the mother rushing along. "I never want to go back." He looked away, his jaw clenched and his eyes strained with emotion. "But I have no choice. I have to go," he whispered. "I have to go."

Untangling herself from her swing, Hermione got to her feet. She grabbed Draco's hands. "Come here."

Pulling him to his feet, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight as the sky opened up and unleashed its wrath upon the world, a rain that soaked the ground and clogged the gutters within mere seconds.

* * *

Friday evening, Draco stood beside Hermione's father, his attention raptly focused upon the strange cooking appliance standing before him, remembering vaguely that Mr. Granger had called it a grill. With Draco's departure scheduled for the next morning, the Grangers had put together a small party for Draco, complete with strings of fairy lights strung up through the trees. Draco stood comfortably in his khaki shorts and black t-shirt; the day's heat had faded an hour ago, leaving behind the muggy reminisce of humidity and stillness.

"When do these go on?" Draco asked, staring at the plate of hamburger patties sitting on a table beside the stout, round grill.

"In just a few moments," Mr. Granger said, studying the glowing coals. He looked up at Draco. "Do you want to put them on?"

Draco frowned. "How do I do that?" he asked.

Chuckling, he smiled good-naturedly. "Wizards don't typically grill, do they?" Draco shook his head. Grinning, he glanced at Draco and held his hand over the coals. "Alright, my boy, time to put these on," he said, picking up the plate and holding it out for Draco.

Gingerly, Draco picked up one of the beef patties, grimacing at the sliminess of it in his hand. Biting his lip, he reached out over the grill and tossed the hamburger onto the grate, the patty landing partially between the bars.

"I suppose that's one way of doing it," Mr. Granger remarked with a small laugh as he expertly placed the remaining burgers on the grill.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry," he said. "We have house-elves that do all our cooking. Save what Hermione's showed me this past week, I've never cooked anything in my life."

"Nothing?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Not even a sandwich?" Mirth danced in Mr. Granger's eyes.

Shaking his head, Draco grinned. "Nope."

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

Draco nodded. "Really."

"Now, these house-elves you speak of," he said, prodding one of the sizzling patties. "Are they the same creatures Hermione's always going on about? S.P.A.W.?"

"S.P.E.W.," he corrected automatically, "and yeah, the one and the same."

"What do you think about it?"

"About S.P.E.W.?"

He nodded.

Cocking his head to the side, he shrugged. "I see her point, in a way," Draco said. "However, I've grown up with house-elves, and it's hard to change your ways of thinking." Draco paused for a beat. "I do admire her perseverance though."

"Good man," Hermione's father praised, nodding approvingly in Draco's direction. Then, sticking his spatula under one hamburger, Mr. Granger flipped the patty into the air, it landing uncooked-side-down on the grill with amazing ease. "And these are ready to flip." He handed the spatula over to Draco. "Want to give it a go?"

"Sure," Draco said, taking the spatula. Wiggling it beneath one of the hamburgers, he flipped the burger into the air as Mr. Granger had done. However, instead of the patty landing back on the grill with flawless grace, it met the ground with a wet splat. Draco paused and stared at the hamburger. "Um…"

Hermione's father chuckled and stooped down, picking up the half-cooked burger, tossing it into the trash bin alongside the house. "Not to worry, my boy," he said. "It happens to the best of cooks." He nodded towards the other burgers. "Why don't you give it another go?" he requested.

The sliding glass door opened, Hermione stepping out, her purple skirt flowing around her knees as her white singlet top accentuated her tanned arms. "Hey," she greeted, coming to stand beside Draco, her eyes watching as he carefully flipped the burgers, this time with less aerial flipping and more spatula turning.

Draco looked up and smiled at her. "Hey."

Hermione glanced at her father. "Daddy, Mum needs your help in the kitchen," she said, Mr. Granger soon slipping inside. "How's it going?" she asked, staring at the nearly finished burgers.

"Good," he said. "I only ruined one." Looking up at her, he sent her a wide grin, his eyes a glittering silver, the glowing coals reflecting off of them.

"I suppose that's progress," she said, grinning wryly.

"Oh, shut it," he said, giving her a gentle shove in the arm. "Soon I'll be an expert cooker, and you're just jealous." Grinning at her snootily, Draco raised his eyebrows. "Admit it, Granger. You know it's the truth."

Hermione snorted. "The day you become an expert chef…not cooker…will be the day I snog Snape," she said, transferring her weight to her right foot and giving him a challenging look.

Draco recoiled, holding out his hand as if to hold her back. "Oh, gross, Granger," he said. "Snogging Snape? Do you have secret fantasies you have yet to inform me of?"

"I'm not telling," she said aloofly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

His mouth fell open. "You do!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and glanced at him wryly. "You wish," she said. Then, unfolding her arms, she changed the subject. "Do you know when your train leaves tomorrow?" she asked.

Draco sighed, their previous jesting forgotten. "Nine in the morning," he said dejectedly, the heaviness he felt waking up that morning returning in an instant. He wished that tomorrow morning would never come, that he wouldn't have to return to the Manor. The coals, which had been lazily glowing, flared brightly for a split second, returning to their previous glow a moment later. Draco frowned as he watched the coals, confusion swirling about his being.

Hermione, not seeing Draco's frown, continued. "Is there going to be someone to pick you up when you get off the train?"

Looking up, he shrugged. "Probably not," he said. "Mother owled me yesterday and said Father returns from his business trip tonight. We can't raise suspicions."

"Oh," she said quietly, staring unseeingly at the coals glowing lazily. "These should probably come off or they'll burn."

Draco nodded and picked up the spatula, ready to remove the cooked burgers. However, he paused, the metal plane of the spatula tapping against the grill absentminded. "Granger?" he asked quietly.

Hermione looked him in the eye. "Yeah?"

"I…I…" He looked away, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together. "I just…"

"What is it?" she asked, touching his arm.

Draco glanced at her, his eyes intense, the effect magnified as the glowing coals reflected in the whites of his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"Having me as a guest in your house," he said. "I've really enjoyed getting to know your mother and father." Looking through the glass door and into the kitchen where Hermione's parents stood close beside each other, Draco smiled sadly. "You're very lucky."

Hermione turned towards him and stared, an unexpected emotion building in her chest, the pressure pushing against her resolve. Draco matched her look, the silence growing between the two, speaking what couldn't be said in words.

The sliding doors opened, allowing her parents back outside, their arms full of bowls and dishes of food. Hearing the door slide open, Hermione and Draco broke their eye contact, heading over to the picnic table. And in that moment, as their attention was directed elsewhere, the brief flare in the coals glowing in the grill went unnoticed.

* * *

The nine o'clock train drifted into the platform five minutes before its intended departure time. Watching the train come to a strained stop, Draco turned towards Mrs. Granger.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Granger," he said politely. "I had a splendid time."

Hermione's mother smiled warmly. "It was a pleasure having you, Draco. You are welcome anytime," she said, smoothing the hair atop his head.

Nodding his thanks, Draco glanced at Hermione, his stomach clenching with unavoidable dread. He hated goodbyes. Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him into an embrace, her arms circling his slim waist as he returned her hug.

"Promise that you'll keep owling me," she said into his shoulder.

"I will," he said, his voice showing the beginnings of strain. "I promise."

"You need anything…anything at all," she stressed, "just owl me."

"Ok," he said. "I'll be alright, Granger. Don't worry."

Hermione tightened her hold on him. "I can't help that," she said into his ear. "You know that."

"I know," he said quietly, resting his chin atop her head of curly hair. He wanted nothing more than to never return home. What awaited him back at the Manor remained as unpredictable and as volatile as the weather. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, repressing the heavy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, Hermione pulled away, her eyes searching the immediate area. "That smell," she said, sniffing the air. "It smells like smoke. Just like that…that night on the porch…and the park…" she said, her voice a near whisper. Stepping away from Draco, but still keeping one hand on his arm, she surveyed the area, her nose registering the faint aroma. "Do you smell that?"

Draco hesitantly tested the air and frowned before quickly looking away. "I don't smell anything," he said with a small shrug.

"Are you certain?"

He nodded.

"Hmmm," Hermione surmised. "It must be just me, then."

"Probably," he said, glancing at her before setting his eyes on the passengers boarding the train. "I should go."

She nodded. "The train's going to leave soon," she said.

Picking up his bag, Draco glanced at Hermione. "Bye," he said quietly.

"Bye," she responded. "I'll see you in September."

Draco managed a smile. "You too," he said before disappearing into the crowd.


	19. Tabellae Per Noctua

**Author's Note – **I would like to thank all my wonderful reviewers. I'm very excited right now. Why? Because my fifth year plot is starting and it's an awesome plot.

**Another Note – **The title means "Letters by Owl," in Latin. And I would like to state at this moment that Fire Dragon is starting it's descent into AU. That means that some thing will be changed from here on and out. Maybe not right away…and nothing major yet…but it's coming up and I don't want to receive any reviews complaining that this or that didn't happen in the fifth book.

**Disclaimer – **Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter or anything to do with Harry Potter. Not even Draco!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Tabellae Per Noctua"

* * *

Saturday morning of the last week of July, Hermione sat in her kitchen sipping at a glass of orange juice and picking over a plate of toast. Hedwig dozed on the chair beside her, her eyes closed and her face hidden beneath her snow white wing. With a smile, she signed the birthday card before her, slipped it into the envelope and attached it to the box of Honeydukes Chocolates she'd bought in Hogsmeade the other day. 

"Send Harry my love, Hedwig," she said to the owl, tying the package to her foot.

Hedwig perked up, ruffled her feathers, and flew out of the kitchen with a gentle sweep of wing over Hermione's hair. Hermione's mother opened the window above the sink, Hedwig gliding out as another owl, Draco's owl, Zander, swooped in on black wings.

Mrs. Granger smiled at her daughter. "My, aren't you popular this morning," she said. "Who is this one from?"

Hermione beamed, untying the letter from the owl's foot. "Draco," she said, tearing through his familiar wax seal, her eyes straining to hear word from her friend.

_Granger-_

_Thank you for the package. I'd been craving Skittles all summer. I should have bought some when I was at your house. Now, why didn't I think of that? Either way, they were greatly appreciated. _

_Things at the Manor have been calm. Father has been busy as the Dark Lord is trying to rebuild his forces. At least that's my suspicion. Why else would Father need to leave in the middle of the night with his Deatheater robes? I can't think of any other explanation. It scares me, though. (You wouldn't believe the difficulty I had in writing that word.) I hate to admit it, though, and I trust you to keep that confession to yourself, but that's the truth. You and I both know the destiny put before me and my feelings towards that path._

_I know you are leaving for "The Place You Refuse to Discuss" tomorrow. And might I say at this minute that I feel rather put out that you won't tell me where you're going. You are positively insufferable, do you know that? Anyways, Father is taking me to Sussex tomorrow. He said something about learning about my heritage. I'm not sure what that exactly means or what it will entail. However, I will be in his presence for most of the day. A letter from you would be most unfortunate at that time. I hope you understand._

_I miss you, Granger. (I can't believe I just wrote that. I'm not turning soft, am I?) It's the truth, though. I despise being stuck here at the Manor. I should go, one of our house-elves (Don't even start, Granger!) has just informed me that Father requests my presence. I wonder what he wants now._

_-Draco_

She smiled sadly, a mixture of emotions gathering in her stomach. Refolding the letter, she picked up her dishes and set them on the counter beside the sink.

"How's Draco?" Mrs. Granger asked, glancing down at Hermione with a loving smile and a kiss to the top of her head.

"He's good," she said softly. "He says thanks for the Skittles."

She smiled. "I'm glad he enjoyed them."

"Me too," she said, rubbing the end of her nose. Glancing at the clock attached to the stove, and the span of time she had in the day before her, Hermione sighed and glanced at the stairs visible through the kitchen doorway. "I should finish up my homework. I'll be in my room if you need me," she said before disappearing up the stairs.

* * *

It wasn't until the third day of her arrival at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place that Hermione found the time to reply to Draco's letter. 

_Draco-_

_I've arrived at "The Place I Refuse to Discuss" as you so refer to it as. And, no, as I've told you before, I can't tell you where I am. Stop being an annoying prat and accept that you can't always be privy to everything._

_Of course I understand about you receiving letters in your father's presence, hence the timing of this letter. How did your trip to Sussex go with your father? I hope things ended well. I was worried for you. And don't you dare scoff at that, it won't change anything. You are my friend, and as my friend I have the right to worry over you…_

A knock at the door, the door creaking open, and a head of red hair popped into the room.

"Hermione?"

Spinning around in her chair, Hermione hastily shoved the half-finished letter beneath a partially revised Potions essay and tried to cover up the startled and panicked expression pulling at her features. Ginny cocked her head to the side and stepped into the room they shared.

"What are you doing?" she asked, hovering over Hermione's shoulder.

"Potions essay," she responded calmly. "Is there something you needed?"

"Mum wanted me to tell you dinner's ready."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Gin."

* * *

Later that night, Hermione finally managed to get a chance to finish her letter. 

_It's good to hear things are calm at the Manor. You really think You-Know-Who is rebuilding his forces? I wasn't even born when he (It feels undignified to refer to You-Know-Who as a he. Don't you think?) first rose to power. However, I've read about it plenty. It's terrifying to think what the future could hold with You-Know-Who back._

_I wish I could say things are calm at the place where I'm staying. I'm sure you've heard about Harry in the Daily Prophet. Dementors in a Muggle neighborhood? I was shocked to hear that. Who would have sent Dementors after Harry? Dumbledore was furious. I've never heard him yell so loud. In fact, I believe he was creating a Howler. Two whom that Howler was intended, I do not know._

_Other than Harry nearly getting expelled, it's rather dull. It's filthy here. Not your standard of filthy, but seriously filthy. Ron, Ginny, and I have spent the last two days cleaning. Underneath all the dust and dirt, however, is a very old and very interesting house, once you get past what has been living in the walls and drapes for the past decade. There's a library nearly the size of the Hogwarts library here that I've just started to explore. It is magnificent. I've always wanted my own library._

_I miss you too, Draco. And, no, you're not going soft. Compassion isn't something to be ashamed of. It's what makes the world a habitable place. I should go. It's late, and I want to fall asleep before the portrait downstairs starts screaming again._

_-Hermione_

* * *

Wednesday evening, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sat on the floor in Ron's room, a game of Exploding Snap abandoned among them. Downstairs, the Order was having a meeting, the second one that week. 

"This is utter rubbish," Ron grumbled, lying down on his back as he stared at the decrepit, old ceiling of his bedroom.

Hermione looked up from the book she read. "You heard your mother, Ron," she said. "Plus, we're not even of age yet."

"Not of age?" Ron nearly shouted, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "We're already bloody involved in this war as is, no matter if we're of age or not."

"Ron, there is no war, yet," she said.

"No war yet? What do you call what happened to Harry?" he said, sitting up now, his ears turning red. "Do you think those dementors just waltzed on over to Privet Drive on their own?"

"What happened to Harry was the sodding Ministry's fault…the dementors and that stupid hearing. The Ministry's gone down the loo." Hermione growled. "But I don't think just because Harry was attacked by dementors that we're necessarily at war just yet. And I don't think that justifies us being let in on Order meetings."

"It bloody well does!"

Ginny, who's been off in her own little world, turned towards Hermione. "Ron does have a point, through, Hermione," she said.

Hermione gave her a withering look. "And what would that be?"

"There is going to be a war," she said. Hermione closed her eyes, flashes of Draco passing through her mind. "It might not be now or next year, but with You-Know-Who back, it's going to happen. And when it does, we're going to be involved whether we want to be or not. If we're going to eventually be involved, don't we deserve to be informed?"

Sighing, Hermione pursed her lips. Ginny had a very good point, a point she wished wasn't valid as Draco once again came to mind. However, Hermione felt as if she should still stand by her argument. Rules were not made to be broken. Even when she unintentionally broke them, she always regretted it and made it a point not to break that particular rule again. Plus, Mrs. Weasley felt very strongly about the three of them staying out of the Order meeting, and Hermione felt compelled to respect her wishes.

From the window, cast wide open by Ron earlier that evening, Zander swooped in on pitch black wings, a letter carried in his beak. He came to a graceful landing beside Hermione, dropping the letter in her lap. Stepping around on his feet, the owl flew upwards in a flurry of wings and landed on Ron's bed post, obviously having been told to wait for a response.

"Who's that from?" Ron asked, leaning over curiously.

Dragging the letter away from her friend's wandering eyes, Hermione glared at him. "Mind your own business, Ronald," she said, sticking the letter into the back pocket of her jeans.

"I was just asking," he said, sulking slightly. "It's not…" Ron sneered. "_Vicky_ is it?"

Mouth gapping, Hermione smacked Ron in the arm. "Ronald Weasley, how could you suggest such a thing? You know how I feel about him."

"That git," he bit out.

"Exactly," she said. "Now why would I be writing to him?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Girls do strange things sometimes."

Ginny snorted. "And blokes don't?" she said, getting to her feet and approaching the owl, her hand stuck out tentatively. "Either way, whoever your friend is, he or she has a beautiful owl," Ginny said, stroking the owl's head, an owl treat or two in her other hand.

Hermione glanced up at Draco's owl. "Yeah," she said quietly.

Two loud cracks suddenly sounded throughout the room, Hermione jumping as Ginny shrieked and Ron groaned.

"Hello ickle siblings," Fred greeted, a wide grin on his face.

"And ickle friends." George nodded towards Hermione.

"May I present to you…"

"Our latest creation…"

Three long, flesh colored objects dropped into Hermione, Ron, and Ginny's laps.

"Extendable Ears," the twins said in unison.

Picking one up, Ron grimaced. "Extendable what?"

"Extendable Ears, little brother," George said.

"Let's you hear what you're not supposed to hear," Fred said with a grin.

"Like certain meetings…"

"Certain mothers have banned us from…"

Ginny and Ron exchanged grins as Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're honestly not going to eavesdrop on the meeting, are you?"

Ron, Ginny, and the twins stared at her. "Of course we are," George said.

"Why else would we make them?" Fred retorted.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione stood up. "I'm not going to be a part of this," she said, coaxing Zander onto her arm. "I'll be in my room," she said, walking out of the room.

"Our room," Ginny called after her as a reminder.

Sighing, Hermione walked down the hallway and entered the room she shared with Ginny. Compared to Ron's room, there weren't too many differences in the way of peeling wallpaper, cracking paint, and depressing color schemes. Setting Zander down on the edge of her desk, the owl hooting softly, Hermione tore open Draco's letter.

_Granger-_

_I can't help being an annoying prat just as you can't help being an insufferable know-it-all. But wherever you are, I hope you are having an enjoyable time. Don't let Weasley get to you. He's missing some brain cells. I'm surprised Potter isn't there with you. Aren't you three joined at the hip or something? At least, that's the rumor down in the Slytherin dungeons._

_The trip to Sussex wasn't exactly what I thought it would be. No Dork Lord (I refuse to call him the Dark Lord anymore. Plus, Dork Lord really captures who he really is, doesn't it?) or Deatheaters. We met with one of Father's financial advisors. Don't worry, Granger, the Malfoy's are still at the top of the galleon pyramid. Apparently I'm getting my own vault at Gringotts. I'm as surprised as you are._

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" Hermione glanced up as Mrs. Weasley pounded up the stairs and past her closed bedroom door. "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THESE?"

Curious, she poked her head out of the door as the Weasley matriarch marched back towards the stairs, a twin held by the scruff of his neck in each of her hands, Extendable Ears still hanging from their ears. Shaking her head, Hermione returned to Draco's letter.

_I have heard about Potter's run in with the dementors. It's all Father has been talking about. It's really odd though. The other night I overheard part of a conversation between Father and another person. I'm not sure who it was, but it was a woman and I'm willing to bet all the Skittles in the world that what they were talking about had to do with Potter being attacked by the dementors. Dementors and Surrey came up several times in the conversation. Doesn't Potter live near Surrey? That's what I've heard._

_Anyways, could you let Zander stay with you for a little bit? He's been very busy these past few days. I don't want to tire him out. Father has been using him to deliver his post this summer. I don't understand why he couldn't use his own owls. He has three of them!_

_-Draco_

* * *

"Hermione?" 

The girl in question glanced up as she drafted her next letter to Draco. Ron stood in her doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets and a sheepish look to his face. Turning around, Hermione smiled at him as she slipped the letter among a stack of parchments at the corner of her desk.

"Hey, Ron," she said.

"Hey," he replied, shifting on his feet. "Have you seen Ginny?"

Hermione shook her head. "She was in here about an hour ago, but she left…said something about throwing dung bombs at the dining room door." She shrugged.

"Oh." He paused as if thinking his next words through. "Can I come in?" he asked, taking a step into the room.

"Of course you can," she said. "Is something the matter?"

"Huh?" he asked.

"You seem upset."

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to apologize."

She cocked her head to the side in surprise. "What ever for?"

"I shouldn't have brought Krum up the other day," he said.

"It's all right."

"No." He shook his head. "It's not. Not after the complete git he turned out to be. I'd think you mental if you were writing to him, and I know you're not."

Hermione smiled. "It's all right, Ron," she said. "Honestly, no hard feelings."

"Really?" he asked, his face brightening.

"Ron, you're one of my best mates. Of course there are no hard feelings," she said.

He smiled, running his fingers across the Weasley-made quilt neatly laid out on her bed. "So…who did send you that letter?" Hermione looked up at him, Ron fidgeting. "Was it that same bloke that was over at your house?"

Swallowing, Hermione nodded. "Yeah, but you don't know him." She paused for a beat. "Why are you so keen on knowing who I'm writing to?"

"Dunno." He shrugged, looking around the room. "Harry's supposed to be here soon, isn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "The Order left nearly an hour and a half ago," she said. "Do you think he's going to be angry with us?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer, but from downstairs, a door closed, followed by muffled voices that soon escalated into outright shouts.

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. "Well, I guess that answers that question," she said before both headed downstairs to meet their currently irate friend.

* * *

_…Harry arrived just yesterday. I was right regarding what I wrote about in one of my earlier letters. He was furious. I don't blame him, though. Being stuck with the Muggles he has to live with and having no contact or information about the Wizarding World would drive me mental too. I just wish he would understand that Ron and I had no choice in the matter._

_And stop picking on Ron. He's not as bad as you make him out to be. And contrary to popular thought, I do have other friends besides Harry and Ron. Ginny is my friend…and Neville. Oh, and there's this other guy I hang around with. What's his name? I can't remember. It starts with a D. Draven? Drake? Devin? I'll think of it eventually._

_Anyways, I need to wrap up this letter. The sun is up, and Ginny should be waking soon. I would hate to have her discover that I'm writing to you. You know what I mean. I've already been interrupted twice in writing this letter, something I despise with a passion. Can't people see that when someone is writing a letter that they don't wish to be disturbed?_

_-Hermione_

_P.S. I'm sending some Extendable Ears with this letter. They are a George and Fred creation. Stick one end in your ear and the other end near a conversation you wish but can't quite hear. I have a feeling they'll come in handy._

Tucking an Extendable Ear, one she'd swiped from Fred and George last night, into the folded up letter, she tied it to Zander's leg, the owl flying out the window a second later.

* * *

The first week and a half of August flew past, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny spending most of their days stuck in one of the rooms cleaning, and their nights trying to either sneak into or eavesdrop in on the Order meetings. However, as Harry's hearing approached, everybody began walking on edge. Harry couldn't be expelled, Hermione was sure of that. Clause seven in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underaged Sorcery protected a young witch or wizard from expulsion on the basis of self defense. Hermione read that for herself in, _A Comprehensive Guide to Wizarding Law: Volume One._ Yet, the Ministry had been particularly slanderous towards Harry in the past few months. Would the Ministry go as far as ignoring the law to save face? Hermione hated to think of the answer to that question, fearing the results would not be in Harry's favor. 

Mr. Weasley and Harry left early in the morning for the hearing, leaving the rest of the occupants of Grimmauld Place on their own to mull over Harry's fate. After breakfast, Hermione slipped away while Ron and Ginny were deep within a debate over which Quidditch player could outmaneuver the other. Zander sat waiting on the back of Hermione's chair as she entered her room.

"Hey, Zander," she said, stroking the owl's head.

Zander, nudging his head up into Hermione's hand, hooted and stuck his foot out, a letter affixed to his leg. Taking it, Hermione opened it and began reading.

_Hey Granger-_

_Would that other friend possibly be...oh, I don't know…ME? Plus, Ginny and Neville don't count as other friends. You need to get out more and make friends from other houses. You Gryffindors are always whining about Slytherin being closed minded when you yourself don't have any friends from other houses. Except me, that is. But that's a small technicality I'm willing to look over in lieu of winning._

_Today's Potter's hearing, isn't it? Father left early this morning for the Ministry of Magic. I think he's attending Potter's hearing. I'm not sure what this means exactly, but if Potter is still at "The Place You Refuse to Discuss" warn him about that._

_And I still retain my right to pick on Weasley as much as I want. He's exactly as bad as I make him out to be. He's Weasley! Have you honestly never seen him at the dinner table when they serve kidney pie? Uncivilized would be the way of referring to his eating habits. Now, why am I speaking about Weasley's eating habits? I would shudder if it wasn't so sodding hot out. Father's taken to following me around the Manor. I'm not sure why, and it unsettles me. So, I've been writing these letters outside in our garden. He says traipsing about the garden is for women. So, it's just Mother and I out here. Therefore, I'm relatively safe._

_Those Extendable Ears are brilliant! I was rather put off at first because the Weasley Twins made them. But once I tried them out, I couldn't put them down. I listened in on everything. Did you know house-elves fall in love? I didn't even know that they could feel, let alone have actual emotions. And now I have a feeling that you're going to yell me. Am I right? Don't blame me for my view on house-elves. Blame my father._

_-Draco_

_P.S. Do you have anymore Skittles?_

Hermione frowned. Why would Lucius Malfoy want to attend Harry's hearing? Her stomach clenched at the mere thought of Draco's father. Trying to push the feeling down, she grabbed a blank sheet of parchment and began her reply to him.

_Hey Draco- _

_Leave Ron alone! Yes, I've taken note of his eating habits. Just because the bloke isn't very neat, or dignified, in his habits doesn't mean you can pick on him. Are his eating habits the reason you pick on him? I can't see that. That seems a bit…juvenile. And if it's true, stop being a git, Draco. And why ARE you talking about Ron's eating habits? I'd like you to answer that._

_Why would your father be attending Harry's hearing, if that's what he's actually doing? Do you think he's attending Harry's hearing? This worries me. What if he tries to sabotage it? That's definitely something I could envision your father doing. No offense, though._

_And what do you mean Gryffindors are just as closed-minded as Slytherins? You are the house that's always going on about purity of blood and all that rubbish! Plus, I have friends in other houses, and you DO count. And what exactly are you winning at? I was unaware that we were having a competition._

_I'm not even going to comment on your house-elves rant. Just know, if you'd said that in my presence, you'd have gotten your ears boxed._

_-Hermione_

* * *

Thursday night, a night without an Order meeting, Hermione and the Weasley clan congregated in the kitchen. It was a rare quiet night at Grimmauld Place, the majority of Order members out on assignment or tending to their own agendas. Mrs. Weasley bustled over dinner magically cooking itself over the stove. At the wooden table, Fred and George sat with their heads pushed close together and words flowing between the two like a river, no doubt concocting another scheme. Hermione, with her nose buried in _Hogwarts: A History_, sat beside Ron, who was currently beating Sirius at Wizards Chess while Ginny watched on in amusement. 

"Hermione, dear?" Mrs. Weasley glanced back at her.

"Yes?" She looked up from her book.

"Could you go find Harry? Dinner is nearly ready."

"Sure," she said, leaving the kitchen and traipsing up the stairs and into the main part of the house.

Tiptoeing past the temperamental portrait of Sirius' mother, she climbed the stairs and wandered down the hallway, absentmindedly wondering why her bedroom door was open. A soft light seeped out of the room and through the open doorway. She pushed the door open.

Horror. absolute, gut-wrenching, stabbing horror grabbed Hermione and twisted until it became hard to breath.

Harry, who'd been previously standing at her desk, spun around. He clutched letters in his hands. Hermione's letters. Her letters from Draco.


	20. Ubi Te Minimus Exspecto

**Author's Note – **Not much to say today. Enjoy the chapter and review!

**Another Note – **The title means, "When You Least Expect," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **Come on, now. You and I both know that I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"Ubi Te Minimus Exspecto"

* * *

"Harry." Hermione hesitantly approached her friend. "What…what are you doing?"

He laughed harshly. "All I wanted was to borrow a quill," he said, shaking his head. "And all I got was _this_." He held up his hand, crumpled letters clutched angrily. "What _is_ this, Hermione?"

"It's…it's not what you think," she said, biting her lip.

"Not what I think?" he bit out. "This isn't what I think it is?"

She shook her head.

"THEN WHAT IS IT?" he shouted. Crookshanks, who'd previously been napping on Hermione's bed, yowled and darted out of the room. "Because it sure as hell looks like you're writing to Draco Malfoy."

Hermione looked away, wringing her hands together.

"DRACO MALFOY!" he roared. "You're writing to _Draco Malfoy_." Harry took a few steps towards Hermione. "Tell me this is a joke, Hermione. Tell me these letters aren't real."

Dragging her eyes back to Harry's, she swallowed hard. "It's not a joke, Harry," she whispered.

Harry gaped at Hermione. "ARE YOU BARKING MAD?"

She shook her head. "Will you just let me explain?"

"Explain? What sort of explanation could there be for this?" he demanded.

Glancing at him warily, she bit her lip. "He needed a friend," she said.

Shaking his head back and forth, Harry seethed within himself. "I don't need this, Hermione," he said. "Especially from one of my best mates."

"Harry…"

Whirling around, Harry's eyes glowed with anger and the slightest twinges of betrayal. "_He…is…my…enemy_."

"You don't know him," she said.

"And you do?" he asked.

"Yes, I do. He's not who you think he is," she said.

"He's _everything_ I think he is." Harry paced back and forth. "Draco Malfoy is my enemy. We are on completely different sides here, Hermione. Which side are you on here?" He stared at her expectantly. "Are you on his side? Because it bloody well looks like it."

"There are no sides, Harry," she said quietly.

"That's shit, and you know it," he said.

Hermione hugged herself and stared at Harry as a dull throbbing began in her stomach and heart.

"It's the truth," she said.

Harry shook his head in fury, his foot kicking out and hitting Hermione's chair. The chair tumbled over. "I don't believe this. I fucking don't believe this." Grabbing a book, the first one he could find, he threw it across the room.

Hermione took a step back. "Harry…please…calm down."

"CALM DOWN? You want me to _calm down_?" Harry stood in the center of the room, his breaths labored and his fists clenched. "How do you expect me to calm down? My best mate has just _betrayed_ me."

Her heart froze in that moment, breathing becoming exceedingly difficult to manage. "That's…that's not true, Harry." She looked up pleadingly. "You know that's not true! I would never betray you. It's not like that."

He shook his head, dismissing her words with a passive wave of the hand. "How long has this been going on? How long have you been speaking to Malfoy?" he demanded. "A few weeks? A month?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, no sounds coming out.

Harry gave her a hard stare. "_Tell me_, Hermione."

"A…a little longer than that," she said timidly.

"How long?"

She stared at him, words failing her.

"HOW LONG?" he shouted.

Hermione looked away. "Nearly a year," she whispered. "Since the beginning of fourth year."

Harry froze, his mouth agape and his eyes wide with shock that quickly turned to anger. "A YEAR? You've been speaking to him for a year?" His eyes glazed over, memories of the past school year flying before his eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't believe this…I don't believe what you've done." His face going slack, Harry shook his head and turned for the door, his footsteps clipped and rushed.

"Harry…" Hermione started after him.

Harry stopped, holding out a hand as he shook his head. "Don't even, Hermione," he said sadly. "Don't talk to me…Don't look at me…Just don't."

And with that, Harry left the room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione stared at that door, the Weasleys and dinner forgotten, as tears slid down her face. She dropped to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Wave after wave of grief flooded her, and she couldn't breathe, could think, couldn't feel anything except the heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. And then a thought more horrifying than she could imagine came to her.

Harry would tell Ron. Everybody would know. They would all hate her.

Picking herself up with all the strength she could muster, Hermione stumbled over to her bed and dropped down onto the mattress, burying her head in her pillow and let out the sobs clawing at her throat.

Ron would never speak to her again.

Ginny would hate her.

Nobody would trust her.

She'd be an outcast.

And worst of all, Draco would get the worst of it. His father would surely find out and…and…Hermione shook her head. Squeezing her eyes shut as the tears continued to eek out, Hermione clutched at the quilt on her bed. It hurt, hurt so much. Aching, throbbing, everywhere kind of hurt, the kind of hurt that made your heart bleed with pain you wished you could forever forget.

* * *

Ginny climbed the stairs after dinner that night, her brow furrowed in thought. It had been a strange dinner, with Harry glaring daggers at his plate for no apparent reason, and Hermione mysteriously missing. Something was amiss, that she knew. The door to the bedroom she shared with Hermione was closed, and hesitantly, Ginny knocked.

"Hermione?" She opened the door a smidge, poking her head through the gap.

Hermione lay on her bed facing the wall, her hair a wild mess and her body tucked up into itself. Ginny, shutting the door softly, approached her friend's bed.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" She sat down on the bed, her hand resting on Hermione's back.

"Go 'way," came the strangled answer.

"I will not go away," Ginny said, brushing the tear-soaked curls away from Hermione's face.

"Please, Ginny, just go away," Hermione pleaded.

"Is it Harry?" she asked. "Did you two have a row?"

"It…it's…you wouldn't understand," she said. "Just, please, go away."

"I'll hex him if you want," she offered lightly. "You give me the word, and he'll have antlers growing from places that don't typically see the light of day."

Hermione snorted sardonically as more tears dripped from her eyes and ran over her blotchy cheeks, landing on the quilt. "Ginny, just…just go away. Please."

Sighing, the red-head stood up. "You know, you can talk to me, Hermione," she said. "I'll listen." Giving the older girl one last glance, she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. How could she after everything that had happened? After everything Harry had said? After everything she knew to be true and not true all at the same time? She knew this would happen, it was inevitable. Nobody could hide something like that forever.

Sighing, she turned over and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. The clock beside her bed glowed a time both too late and too early for Hermione to be awake. However, her mind couldn't stop replaying the scene from earlier that day. It haunted her.

She sat up in bed, her hair a wild mess surrounding her face. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, Hermione got to her feet, the wooden floorboards cool under her feet. She rummaged around in her desk, blindly finding a sheet of parchment and a quill before leaving the room, set on doing that which she had been dreading all evening and night: writing to Draco.

The library was swathed in moonlight, the gas lamps lining the walls turned down so low one had to strain to catch sight of the glowing flame. Hermione sat herself down at the table by the window and immediately sunk her hands into her hair, staring at the blank parchment with trepidation before beginning to write.

_Draco-_

_I know I'm writing this in the very early hours of the morning, and you'll most likely get this letter before the sun has risen. For that I'm sorry, but something has happened and you need to know. Harry has found out about our friendship. He knows. I should explain more, I know I should. But I can't, the words just don't want to come to me. I don't know what to think…I don't know what to do…I don't know what to say to make this all just go away. I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen._

* * *

Hermione stood before the mirror affixed to her bureau, her fingers combing through her curls.

"Dear, I think it's just making it worse," the mirror stated.

She sighed, strands of hair moving upwards with her breath, and dropped her hands at her sides. Glancing at the door, she soon returned her attention to her unruly hair.

"Why don't you try putting it up? You would look lovely in an elegant up-do. Or how about dabbing some of Madame Cleary's Frizz Ease Potion onto your curls? That might help."

Shaking her head, Hermione abandoned the mirror and her efforts to tame her hair, efforts used to cover up her anxiety of leaving her bedroom. Ginny had left over five minutes earlier, Mrs. Weasley screeching up the stairs that breakfast was waiting on the table. Hermione had hesitated, reassuring Ginny that she would be down in a few minutes. A few minutes had passed already, the time bordering on ten minutes.

She closed her eyes, grabbing her hair with both hands, and took a deep breath. Letting out the air in one exhalation, Hermione headed for the door with determination in her step.

The kitchen buzzed with early morning activity.

"Wotcher, Hermione! Sorry 'bout that," Tonks greeted, nearly tripping over Hermione as she left the kitchen.

"Morning, Tonks," she called after the witch with a small wave.

Sirius, sitting in the corner reading the Daily Prophet with a large plate of eggs before him, nodded his greeting, which Hermione returned politely.

Ron, going over the Quidditch page in the Daily Prophet with Harry, looked up and smiled, Harry regarding her with an icy glare. Hermione's stomach turned on itself as she sat down next to Ginny.

Ginny studied her friend as her mother plunked a plate of toast down in front of Hermione. Her eyes flicked quickly to a pair of cold, green eyes and back to Hermione, picking up Harry's displeasure at seeing his supposed friend that morning, an observation that was strange in light of the friendship the two shared. And she wondered, as she had last night, what had happened to create such hostile feelings on Harry's part.

Hermione picked at her toast, flipping through the Daily Prophet, her eyes scanning the headlines. She sensed Harry's eyes upon her, the fact of which prickled uncomfortably. He'd never been so angry with her before, the emotion evident in his blazing eyes bordering on hatred and betrayal, much to Hermione's greatest fear.

A series of owls arrived in the kitchen, a tawny-feathered one landing beside Fred and George, another dropping a letter on Sirius' head, and the last, Zander, landing delicately beside Hermione's plate. Harry shot Hermione a sharp look, a look so brief it barely existed, yet it remained a look Hermione caught as she took the letter from Zander's beak. The owl took a corner of her toast before fluttering up to perch on the back of her chair, nipping her affectionately on the ear. She gripped the letter in her hand, the parchment crinkling as she tore her eyes away from Harry's.

Pushing her plate away, Hermione stood. "I'll be upstairs," she said quickly as she headed out of the kitchen, her shoulders tense.

Ginny watched her leave, Ron still engaged in the Quidditch section, as Harry glowered quietly from his position next to Ron. Hermione ignored all three as she headed to her room.

* * *

The edges were burnt, that much became clear the moment Hermione opened Draco's letter. Mouth slightly open in confused observation, she ran her fingers along the parchment edge, her fingertips coming away black and sooty. In the upper corner, she poked her finger through the small hole burnt into the parchment. A similar hole sat further down the sheet. Bringing the parchment to her nose, Hermione gave it a sniff, the parchment smelling of fire and smoke. She frowned, directing her attention to the words written across the page, messy words obviously written in haste.

_Granger-_

_You're right. You should explain more. How in all bloody hell did this happen? I don't believe this. Do you know how much danger you and I are in right now? What if Potter opens his big mouth and tells everyone? My father will find out, and he __**can not**__ find out. Fix this, Granger._

_-Draco_

And that was it, a few short lines on the parchment, a far cry from his usual style. Hermione groaned and rested her forehead on the heel of her palm as she took several deep breaths. Then, grabbing for a piece of parchment and a quill, she began her reply.

_Draco-_

_Harry found the letters you had written to me. I thought I had hidden them well enough, but Harry has a knack for finding things he's not supposed to. I don't think he will tell anybody else. Harry isn't like that, but I'll talk to him._

_He isn't speaking to me, though. I don't think he's ever been this angry with me before. You should have seen how he looked at me this morning. We need to fix this. Harry's one of my best friends. I don't want him hating me forever._

Ginny entered the room quietly, Hermione glancing up for a moment.

_I have to cut this short, Ginny's here. Don't worry, she doesn't know about you. Well, she knows something happened between Harry and I, but nothing about you. By the way, why did it look like you'd dropped your letter in the fire?_

_-Hermione_

"Hey Hermione." Ginny smiled, stroking the feathers on Zander's head, the owl loving every moment of the attention he received. "Who're you writing to? That same bloke?"

She nodded, folding the letter and tying it to Zander's leg.

"Is that why Harry's angry with you?" she asked, sitting down on the bed, pushing a pile of clean and folded clothes onto the floor in the process.

Hermione looked up sharply as she let Zander out through the window. "What?"

"When you received that letter from Mystery Bloke this morning, Harry looked as angry as an insulted hippogriff." She shrugged. "It's not too hard to put two and two together."

Giving Ginny a long stare, Hermione sat down on her neatly made bed and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't."

"But sometimes it's good to talk," Ginny said.

"Ginny!" Hermione snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Merlin's beard, Hermione, you don't have to bite my head off," she said.

Hermione looked the other way, studying the faded patterns in the aging wallpaper as she pointedly ignored Ginny in a distinctly un-Hermione-ish manner.

Ginny sighed and stood up. "Fine, be that way, then," she said, leaving the room.

The door closed, and Hermione wilted, her shoulders slumping and her hair creating a curtain around her face. She stared at her hands sitting in her lap as tears fell upon them like big, fat raindrops.

* * *

Hermione sat in the library that afternoon, Draco's reply held nearly forgotten in her hands as she stared out the window. The sky was a brilliant blue, stretching as far as one could see, not a cloud or bird in sight. Blinking slowly, her eyes dragged back to the parchment, rereading his words.

_Granger-_

_Potter does have an annoying habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. However, obviously, the place you'd hidden my letters wasn't good enough. Where'd you hide them? In your desk? Under your pillow? Honestly, Granger, you need to invest in a magical lockbox or something._

_Are you sure Potter won't tell? That seems like something he'd do, at least to me. Make sure he keeps this to himself. Word __**can not**__ reach my father about this. You and I both know that. And I don't care how you do it…swear him to secrecy…make him sign a magically bound contract…blackmail him…I don't care, just do it. And what about the Weaselette? Please, don't be careless._

_And talk to Potter, Granger. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I don't want you to loose your friendship with him either. I know how much he means to you._

_-Draco_

_P.S. Dropped my letter in the fire? I don't know what you're talking about. You haven't gone mental have you?_

The door to the library opened, Harry wandering in. Hermione glanced up at him at the same moment Harry spotted her. With a sneer, Harry turned and headed straight back for the door.

"Harry," Hermione said, standing up. "Please wait."

He paused, his hand on the door. "What?" he said, his voice low and threatening.

Hermione bit her lip. "You…you haven't told anybody…have you?"

Harry whirled around. "Told anyone what? That you're friends with Draco BLOODY Malfoy?"

Averting her eyes, Hermione nodded. "Nobody can know," she said. "If Draco's father ever found out…"

"I really don't care what happens to the stuck up prat," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Harry…"

"You know what?" Hermione jumped at his tone. "I don't care, Hermione. I don't give a rat's bloody arse about that git." He shook his head and held up his hands, as if to fend her off. "So…just don't even start."

Turning on his heel, Harry left the room.


	21. Monitorum Itaque Satisfacere

**Author's Note – **Hello everybody! As to your wishes, here's the next chapter of Fire Dragon. After doing my customary final read-through of this chapter before posting it, I've found that I rather like it…editing a chapter multiple times sure does wonders sometimes! The chapters following this one are rather exciting, the plot really picking up, questions being answered, and fascinating events taking place. However, for the time being, sit back and enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think by reviewing.

**Another Note – **The chapter title means "Warnings and Amends" in Latin. You'll notice, starting in fifth year, that other students and professors are going to play a bigger roll now in Fire Dragon rather than staying in the background like in fourth year. Luna Lovegood is introduced in this chapter, and I want to know what you think about my portrayal of her. I have plans for her…big plans. But for now, does she seem in character?

**Disclaimer – **I think we all know by now that since I'm not JKR and that I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter. This includes Draco Malfoy, who has repeatedly informed me that nobody owns him, and that he in fact owns himself, thank you very much.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Monitorum Itaque Satisfacere"

* * *

The Monday before school was scheduled to start up again, Hermione sat with Ginny in their bedroom. Past issues of Witch Weekly were scattered about on the floor surrounding the redhead while Hermione sat at her desk and flipped through the latest issue, finding no interest in the gossip and fashion advice.

"He still won't talk to you?" Ginny looked up, her eyebrows raised in question.

She shook her head, dropping the magazine down on her desk. "I've tried talking to him. I've tried reasoning with him. Nothing works."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's just being a prat," she said. "He'll get over it."

"I don't think it's going to be that simple, Ginny."

"Hermione, Harry's one of your best mates," she said. "He'll come around."

"_Was_," Hermione stressed.

"Huh?"

"He _was_ one of my best mates," she said with a sigh.

She frowned, standing up and sitting down on the bed directly across from Hermione. "You can't honestly think that."

"What do you want me to think?" she asked. "It's been almost two weeks, and he won't even give me the time of day."

"Hermione, I know you won't tell me exactly what happened between you and Harry, but it honestly couldn't have been that bad."

Hermione bit her lip. "It was that bad," she said as Zander swooped in through the window. "And, Gin, I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Hermione…"

"Ginny, please," she said, giving her a tired look as Zander landed on her arm.

Ginny glanced at the black owl and sighed. "Ok," she said. "I'll just leave you to your Mystery Bloke then."

Ginny left the room, closing the door behind her as Hermione sighed and tore open Draco's letter.

_Granger-_

_The Ministry of Magic passed Educational Decree #22 today. I know mentioning this in my letter seems pointless, but it allows the Ministry to hire professors if Dumbledore can't find one. They hired a woman named Delores Umbridge for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Father was involved in this decision, and I urge you to be careful around this professor. Something isn't right here. I met her the other day in Diagon Alley when I went with Father to pick up something he needed in Knockturn Alley. They spoke as if they'd met before. I don't like her._

_Has Potter spoken to you yet? I know in your last letter you mentioned that he still wasn't speaking to you. That's rather immature of him. He read my letters and he should know that I don't mean you any harm. And I still state that I feel violated knowing he read my letters. Does he have no manners? No tact? No common decency? Well, either way, I do hope he starts speaking to you again. I don't want you to loose a good friend just because you're friends with me, even if it is Potter. You shouldn't have to choose between your friends. It's not right._

_-Draco_

* * *

_Draco-_

_Delores Umbridge? She's the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, isn't she? A professor who has ties to both the Minister and your father, this can't turn out well. Do you know to which extent she is involved with your father? Is she in league with You-Know-Who?_

_On to other matters. No, Harry isn't speaking to me. He won't even look at me. The tension between us is beginning to become evident to the other people living in this house. Ginny obviously knows Harry and I had a rather large fight. Ron has started to notice the rift between Harry and me. Even Mrs. Weasley asked me the other day if everything was alright. It's very distressing, and I wish he would just listen to me. And you're right. If he'd read your letters, which he did, then he should realize that you are a different person from the Draco he's always known. But then again, sometimes Harry isn't the most rational person, especially when he doesn't think things through. I wish I didn't have to choose between my friends either. And please don't blame yourself._

_On a lighter note, I'm a Prefect! _

With a soft smile, Hermione ran her fingers over the large P inscribed over the Gryffindor lion shown on the badge.

_I got my badge in the post today. I can't say I'm exactly surprised, rather more pleased than shocked. The real shocker came when Ron got a Prefect badge. I love Ron, but I just don't think he's Prefect material. I wonder what Dumbledore's reasoning was behind that decision._

_Well, I'll leave this letter at that. We return to Hogwarts the day after tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to talk then._

_-Hermione_

Folding the letter and tying it to Zander's leg, Hermione sent him out the window, shutting it behind him. Running her hands over her pants, Hermione turned and left her bedroom, set on searching out Ginny. Going down the stairs, Hermione came to an abrupt stop, Harry not even two meters away at the foot of the stairs, his eyes staring up into hers. She held her breath and tightened her grip on the banister.

Sighing, Harry shook his head and brushed past Hermione.

"Harry," Hermione called out. Harry tensed slightly but kept on walking. "Harry, please, at least speak to me."

Ignoring her, Harry ventured on down the hall, Hermione following as he opened a door and entered.

"Harry…" Hermione trailed off, her eyes going wide the instant she stepped into the room.

Mrs. Weasley stood frozen in the middle of the room, Percy laying dead upon the wooden floor, the image of him suddenly shrinking into a dead Harry.

She sobbed, her wand shaking. "_Ridd-Riddikulus_," she whispered, the spell having no effect at all on the boggart.

Harry and Hermione stepped forward, Harry with his hand out as he tried to placate Mrs. Weasley. Hermione stared at the boggart as it once again shifted. The image of dead Harry split into two individuals, one with black hair and green eyes, the other pale of skin and with blond hair scattered haphazardly across his forehead. Both were splattered with blood, neither moving in death. Harry stared at her boggart and then at Hermione who stood stock still, her face pale and her hands shaking.

"Hermione…" he trailed off quietly.

Taking a step back, her eyes stuck on the image of two of her best friends lying dead upon the floor, she turned and fled from the room, pushing past Sirius, Remus, and Moody as they entered.

* * *

Fifth year at Hogwarts began as normal as could be expected at a school of magic, barring of course the warning given by the Sorting Hat and the rather unexpected speech given by the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The feast ended, Hermione and Ron ushering the first years up to the Gryffindor Common Room. Once everything had calmed down and the new and returning students had settled into the school routine, Hermione ventured down to the Common Room.

"Oi! Hermione." Ron waved from his spot on the couch, a game of chess being set up on the table and a couple Chocolate Frog wrappers scattered beside the board. "Care for a game of Wizard's Chess?"

She hesitated, a book tucked into the crook of her arm. "I don't know, Ron. I really wanted to do some reading."

"Please? Harry's not around…he had a blazing row with Seamus upstairs and stormed off…something about their mothers…" He shook his head. "It was a load of rubbish, really…damn Prophet's fault if you ask me…publishing all that tripe about Harry. So, what do you say?"

Hermione sighed, setting her book down beside the chess board. "I guess," she said, sitting down across from Ron.

Grinning, Ron got the game underway, claiming five of Hermione's pawns within the first five minutes and her queen a moment later.

"Check," he called, her king in direct line to his knight.

She bit her lip, never having been one for chess, and assessed all of her possible maneuvers when an owl swooped in from the window, landing beside Hermione. Hermione looked up as did Ron.

"Who's that from?" he asked, Hermione giving him a short glare. Ron's ears reddened, a sheepish smile forming on his face. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot."

"It's alright," she said, opening the note.

_Meet me in the library right now?_

_-DM_

"Is that from Mystery Bloke?" he asked, leaning forward and idly spinning one of Hermione's pawns around on the table.

"What?" Hermione looked up.

"Well, Ginny said something about you having a secret quill pal," he said. "She called him Mystery Bloke, so I just…" He shrugged.

"Oh," she breathed softly, picking at the corners of the parchment in awkward pause.

"Who is he?" he asked. "He's not from…_Slytherin_ is he?"

Hermione froze, her mouth hanging open. With much effort, she managed to close her mouth and answer. "What? No…no, he's not," she said, hoping the sudden flush to her cheeks went unnoticed.

"Oh, ok then," he said. "You know, if you need to…uh, talk to him right now or something…" Ron fidgeted. "I can get someone else to finish this game."

Glancing down at Draco's words, Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. "Ron, you don't…"

"Nonsense," he said, turning around, his hand gripping the back of the couch. "Oi, Ginny! Care for a game of chess?"

Ginny, who'd been playing a few rounds of Exploding Snap with some girls in her year, looked up. "What do I get if I win?"

"What makes you think you're going to win?" he said.

Quirking an eyebrow, Ginny crossed her arms and gave Ron a challenging look.

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "If you win, I'll give you my entire stash of Chocolate Frogs."

"Throw in some Every Flavor Beans and we've got a deal."

A quick negotiation later and Ginny had taken Hermione's place on the couch, Hermione making her way to the portrait when it opened and Harry stepped through.

Hermione started. "Harry…"

He glanced up, his green eyes wide before looking away, his feet shifting as he fidgeted. "Hermione…can…can we talk?"

"Of course," she said, glancing at her watch, noting the time being three-quarters of an hour before curfew. "Could we walk and talk? I have to get to the library."

"The library?"

"Yeah," she said.

Harry stared at her for a moment, his eyes drifting to the parchment in her hands and at the look on her face. "You're going to meet…him…aren't you?" he asked.

She nodded.

Sighing heavily, Harry ground his teeth together his eyes darkening at the thought.

"Harry, he's my friend. I…" she trailed off, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the portrait. "I haven't seen him for nearly two months. Don't you miss Ron and me during the summer when you can't see us?"

Reluctantly, Harry nodded as they walked down the corridor towards the library.

"I missed Draco this summer."

Harry winced. "Can't you call him Malfoy?"

"Harry, really, this is ridiculous," she said.

"It is not," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I don't like him, and I don't like that you're friends with him."

"That doesn't really change anything," she said. "I'm going to be friends with him whether you want me to be or not. He's not all that bad of a person."

"Could have fooled me," he grumbled.

"Harry, he's not his father."

"He sure acts like it," he said.

"Draco doesn't exactly have a choice in that matter," Hermione said, pleading to get Harry to understand, to accept her friendship with Draco.

Silence.

"His life is just as fated as yours," she said. "There are a lot of things he has no control over."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "It doesn't change that he's a cold-hearted git who torments us everywhere we go," he said. "Have you forgotten that, Hermione? Have you forgotten that he used to call you a…a…"

"A Mudblood?" she finished for him.

"Yes," he said, "that, Hermione."

She sighed and shook her head. "That's just his exterior," she explained. "Once you get through that, you'll see that he really is a good person. Draco isn't evil, contrary to what everybody likes to think. He even spent a week at my house this summer."

Harry blinked and frowned. "At…_your_ house?"

She nodded. "Yes, and he didn't hex anything. He didn't insult my parents. He didn't try to hurt me. Dare I say it, but I had a lot of fun with him."

He pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow even more.

"Harry?" Hermione leaned around to glance at Harry.

"I'm just trying to imagine Malfoy in a Muggle house," he said. "I really can't."

She smiled softly. "Yeah, it was quite the experience for him," she said. "You should have seen him with the tele."

"Either way, I still don't like the idea of you being friends with him," he said, Hermione frowning. "But if you want to be friends with him, then that's your business."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad you understand," she said.

Harry nodded. "But I want to make one thing clear," he said. "I don't want anything to do with him. Nothing at all, Hermione."

"Ok," she said and paused for a moment. "And, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell anybody about Draco and me. Nobody at all."

He nodded. "I won't…and I haven't," he said, glancing at her.

They'd arrived at the doors to the library. Hermione paused, her hand gripping the door handle.

"Thanks, Harry," she said.

He once again nodded. "You know I couldn't have stayed mad at you forever," he said with a weak smile.

Giving the library doors a lingering glance, Hermione launched herself at Harry, hugging him tightly. "I'm glad you're not mad at me any longer," she said. "I hated when you wouldn't talk to me. Don't ever do that again."

He laughed. "Well, don't go befriending any Deatheaters, and we've got a deal," he said, giving her a gentle shove in the direction of the library. "Go, you don't want to keep him waiting."

Hermione grinned. "Yeah, he does throw monumental hissy fits when people are late," she said. "I'll be back before curfew."

This early in the school year, very few students occupied the library, only the rare seventh year student aiming to get ahead with NEWTs in sight. Seeing this, Hermione reminded herself of OWLs approaching and resolved to begin studying the next day. Tonight, her studies could be put on hold; she had a friend to see.

He wandered between the aisles, the fingers from one of his hands trailing lightly along the spines of the books as he waited. Hermione stopped in her footsteps when she spotted him, her heart leaping into her chest and a smile growing on her face.

"Draco!"

Draco looked up in slight surprise, soon finding himself with an armful of Hermione, and stumbled slightly as he caught her and wrapped his arms around her body.

He grinned cheekily. "Do you greet all your friends in this manner?" he asked, undercurrents of warmth playing up the jest in his voice. "Or am I the only one?"

Blushing, she backed away slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "What? A girl can't be happy to see one of her friends?" She looked up into his eyes.

Running his hands through his mussed up hair, he smirked. "Only if you greet me like that every time you see me," he said.

"Draco!" she exclaimed in exasperation, swiping him on the arm.

"Oi! Watch the clothes, will you?" he said, taking care to inspect the sleeve of his shirt.

Snorting, Hermione sat down, leaning her back against a shelf of books. "Oh, right," she said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes. "Draco's precious clothes. How could I have forgotten?"

He dropped to the ground, stretching his legs out before him. "Well, you lot do need to be reminded on a regular basis," he said smugly.

"And what 'lot' are we speaking of?" she demanded in reply.

"All you girls who just can't seem to keep their hands off of me," he said. "Apparently, I'm a real looker, Granger."

She scoffed at his remark. "Because all girls just swoon for the handsome type."

"Of course they do!"

"Oh please," she said.

"Oh come on, Granger," he said, leaning towards her, his eyes bright. "You honestly haven't had fantasies about me?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she smirked. "Nope."

"Liar."

"I am not!"

"Are too."

"I'm not playing this," she said.

"Fine," he said easily, inspecting his fingernails. "I accept your defeat, then."

"Hey…"

"Nope, those are the terms, Granger.'

"What terms?"

He smirked at her. "The terms I just created."

"Cheater."

"Malfoys don't cheat," he said simply.

"Well, this one obviously does," she said, nodding at him.

Shaking his head as he laughed, he drew one leg up, resting his arm on his bent knee, and stared at Hermione.

"What?" she asked a moment later, her hands gravitating to her face. "Do I have ink on my face?"

He shook his head. "No," he said quietly.

"What then?"

Draco shrugged. "I missed you is all."

"I missed you too," she said in return. "Did you have a good summer? Or at least an okay one?"

He nodded. "It was alright," he said. "Nothing compared to spending it at your house."

"So things were okay at the Manor?" she asked, the full meaning of her question portrayed in her tone of voice.

"Yeah," he said. "No major problems or run-ins with Father."

"Good," she said, relieved. "Harry's speaking to me again."

"Really?"

She nodded and sighed. "We talked and he says if I want to be friends with you, then that's my business." She shrugged. "Either way, I'm glad we're no longer fighting. I hate when people are cross with me, especially one of my best mates."

"I'm glad to see Potter still has some common decency left in him," he said.

"Yeah, well, things weren't exactly as you think," she said. "Harry is…well…he's Harry and that is just the way he is."

"I suppose," he said. A placid silence hung between the two for a few minutes. "What do you think of Umbridge?" he asked suddenly, tilting his head to the side.

Bending forward, Hermione rested her elbows on her knees and settled her chin in the palm of her hand. "She rubs me the wrong way," she said. "There's something off about her, like that speech she made at the Welcoming Feast."

Draco frowned. "Speech?" he asked.

Scrutinizing him, Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Yes…she made a speech right after Dumbledore's about what sort of education Wizarding children should receive and the methods in which they should receive it…weren't you listening?"

Shrugging, Draco shook his head. "I tuned her out the moment she began talking," he said. "I don't fancy listening to mindless rambling, especially from her."

"Well, if you had been listening, you would have realized to which extent the Ministry is involved with Hogwarts," she said urgently. "I fear things are going to change this year, and not for the better. She spoke of progress and of changing things."

Realization dawned on his pale features. "Oh," he said, meaning heavy behind the word.

"Exactly," she said. "And with the Ministry…"

"And my Father…"

"…and your father behind her…"

Draco's eyes grew wide. "We're screwed."

Hermione gave Draco a look. "That's one way of saying it," she said in a reprimanding manner. "But, yes, that's the general idea. This year's going to be different." Hermione paused for a beat, the wheels in her brain spinning. "And that's exactly what the Sorting Hat was warning us of…of her…of unnecessary change…and of how we must band together this year."

"Wait…what did the Sorting Hat say?" Draco asked absentmindedly.

"Are you telling me you weren't listening to the Sorting Hat song either?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I haven't listened since second year," he said. "It's the same tripe every year."

She shook her head back and forth disbelievingly. "You're so much like Ron sometimes," she said.

Mouth gaping indignantly, Draco glared at her. "Don't compare me to Weasley."

"Then don't act like him."

"I do not!"

"You do to," she said smartly. "And you know it."

Shuffling of papers, the soft scoot of a chair, and a distinct, "Hem hem," and Hermione was turned around, peering through the books at the rest of the library.

"What's she doing here?" she asked, Draco crawling up to kneel beside her.

"I don't know," he said, watching as Delores Umbridge moved from table to table, her customary pink cardigan pulled tight across her body and her hands clasped beneath her chest. She smiled sickeningly sweet as she spoke to each student in the library, said student reluctantly packing up his or her belongings and leaving the library.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "It's not even curfew yet," she said. "We still have ten minutes."

"I don't think that matters right now," he said. "We can't be seen."

"Then we have to get out of here," Hermione said, watching as Umbridge poked her head among the stacks of books on the other side of the library, no doubt checking for students lurking within.

Slowly, Draco stood, grabbing Hermione's hand and pulling her up. He made his way to the end of the aisle, poking his head around the corner. The double doors stood not even ten meters away, and Draco sized up the distance between.

"We'll never make it," Hermione said, glancing up at him. "She'll definitely see us."

"Then what do we do?" Draco looked at Hermione.

"We're going to have to…" Hermione glanced up, a quiet voice floating in the air.

"Excuse me, Professor," it said, the voice soft and airy.

Hermione peeked around the corner. A girl with long blond hair and a string of bottle caps strung around her neck stood before Professor Umbridge, her head tilted to the side, vaguely smiling.

Draco frowned. "Isn't that Loony Lovegood?" he asked.

Shoving him, Hermione glared. "Her name is Luna," she said.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, holding his hands up. "It's just what I've heard."

"Well, it'll do you good not to repeat everything you hear, Draco Malfoy."

"Ok, ok…don't get your knickers in a twist," he mumbled, his gaze returning to the eccentric Ravenclaw.

"I have a question for you," Luna said, clasping her hands behind herself.

"A question for me, dearie?" Umbridge replied, her smile unnaturally wide.

Luna nodded, her pale gaze flicking to the far book shelf for the briefest of moments. "Did you know there's a colony of Drivelweeds living in the library?" she asked, her head slanted to the side.

"Drivelweeds?" Umbridge asked.

Luna glanced at the same bookshelf before returning her pale gaze to Umbridge. "Yes," she said, grabbing the professor's arm and turning her around, Umbridge's back now to Hermione and Draco. "Over there," she said, pointing off into the distance, "beside the portrait of Humphrey the Great."

"What is she talking about?" Draco whispered.

"I don't…" Hermione gasped with realization. "Draco, she's trying to help us," she said, pulling on his hand. "Quick, we have to go now!"

Darting out from their hiding spot, Hermione and Draco quickly made their way to the doors, each of their gazes trained on the back of their new DADA professor. Opening the library doors, Hermione sent Luna a thankful smile before letting the doors close with a soft click.


	22. Aenigmatis Carptim

**Author's Note – **This is an exciting chapter. It has a LOT of stuff packed into it. However, the next chapter is even better. And just to let you know, chapter twenty three probably won't be posted until early next week in lieu of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows coming out. Do you figure one is very obsessed with Harry Potter when they are excited for the seventh and final book not only to find out what happens, but to give them ideas for the ending of their fanfiction? Anyways, happy reading and remember to review! I have to go finish rereading HBP now.

**Another Note – **The chapter title loosely mean "Puzzle Pieces" in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Harry Potter and Co. The lovely JKR does.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Aenigmatis Carptim"

* * *

The next morning, Hermione sat in her customary spot at the Gryffindor table, a plate of buttered toast before her. It being the first day of classes, the Great Hall quickly filled with anxious first years, soon followed by the rest of the school population as they yawned and spoke of the up and coming school year. Owls flew lazily among the students, letters and packages affixed to their legs as the enchanted sky spoke of a cloudless, sunny day.

Two tables over sat Luna Lovegood, her blond hair wild and seemingly untamed as she perused the latest edition of the Quibbler. Hermione studied her, knowing of the girl but not truly knowing her. Why had she found it necessary to help her and Draco the night before in the library? Did she know of her friendship with Draco? She surely must have to have helped the both of them. How did she find out? Why hasn't she told anybody? Hermione sighed and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. What did this all mean?

"Morning, Hermione." Ginny sat down beside her, reaching over to grab an apple.

Pulled out of her thoughts, Hermione brushed them aside and smiled at her friend. "Hi, Ginny," she said, returning to her toast.

"I can't believe it's the start of the school year already," she said, inspecting the appearance of her apple. "I almost want to crawl back into bed."

"Nonsense," she said. "The year hasn't really even begun. Don't you want to see what it brings? Your fourth year is a very important year. It's the year right before…"

"Yeah, yeah, I listened to you lecture Ron about that last year," she said, waving her hand to the side. "There's more to life than school, Hermione."

Bristling slightly, Hermione returned to her toast. Of course, Ginny was right; she could list ten things more important than her studies. Hermione merely didn't want to admit it and chose to privately balk at herself for even thinking the idea.

"Oh come on, Hermione. You know I'm right," Ginny said. "What about your Mystery Bloke?"

"What about him?" Hermione asked quickly.

Ginny grinned big. "Well, isn't he important?"

Hermione scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bollocks."

"It's true."

"Ok, well, then what about Harry?"

"What about him?" Hermione asked, sliding a glance down the table at her best friend currently sitting with Ron and Neville, the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet open before them.

"I heard you two made up," she said.

"We did," she said, her eyes gravitating to Draco across the hall. His hair was neatly combed through, but a few strands not cooperating fell in his eyes.

"See, I told you he'd come around."

"Uh huh…" He looked up and met Hermione's eyes for a brief moment as they often did.

"He was just being an angst-ridden prat," she said.

"Yeah…" Hermione watched as Draco returned to his breakfast, his attention diverting for a moment as Blaise asked him a question, Draco nodding.

"I mean, this is Harry. Harry's your best mate," she said.

Hermione made a small affirmative noise in the back of her throat. Frowning, Ginny leaned over to look at Hermione's face.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?" she said absentmindedly, her attention still busying itself across the Great Hall.

Ginny sighed and tensed her jaw in annoyance. "Hermione!" she shouted, alerting several other Gryffindors to their conversation.

Startled, Hermione jerked her head up. "What?"

"Were you even listening to me?"

She glanced at Ginny. "Of course," she said.

"You were not," Ginny said angrily.

Hermione turned red. "Of course I was," she said, her eyes drifting back to the Slytherin table.

Fuming for a second, Ginny watched Hermione "Who are you looking at?" she asked after a minute, leaning over towards Hermione.

Hermione sat up straight. "Nobody," she said quickly.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Really," Hermione said, trying to convince Ginny. "It was nobody…"

"You're a smart witch, Hermione," Ginny said, shaking her head, "but you can't lie worth a knut. What's going on?"

Sighing, Hermione glanced at Ginny. "It's nothing," she said, watching as Professor McGonagall began passing out schedules. "Oh look! Professor McGonagall is handing out our timetables."

"Hermione, don't change the…" Ginny began, but her friend was already too gone in studying her arrangement of classes, critiquing the order in her head, and planning her routes and study schedules.

* * *

Draco made his way through the corridors of Hogwarts after lunch, his bag thrown over his shoulder, his Prefect badge proudly displayed, and his Ancient Runes text held in his hand. Turning a corner, he froze in his footsteps as a voice spoke from behind him, a voice he'd been dreading to hear, but knew it to be both unavoidable and inevitable.

"Young Mr. Malfoy, if I could have just a minute."

Draco turned around and regarded Professor Umbridge warily while still keeping a mask of polite indifference in place.

"I have a class to get to, Professor," he answered, holding up his text as evidence and went to step around the professor blocking his path.

Umbridge moved to the side and grinned down at Draco. "I assure you that you have a moment to spare with me," she said, placing a pudgy hand on his back and steering him in the direction of her office. "Your class can wait."

Allowing himself to be led to her office, Draco quelled the swirls of anxiety growing in his stomach. This woman had ties to his father. Students passing him in the hall stared at him; some glaring while others sent him looks of pity. A moment alone with the woman would make any student uneasy. Entering her office, Draco cringed at the décor, the frequency and variety of pink matched with the doilies hurting his eyes.

"Please, sit," she said, waving a hand at the chair sitting before her desk.

Draco took his seat, placing his bag neatly upon the floor, and regarded the professor politely, thanking the years he spent wearing perpetual masks. He tread dangerous waters with the woman, a mistake couldn't be made. Professor Umbridge studied Draco for a moment, her eyes beady and calculating while her mouth twisted into a pleasant smile, before taking a seat at her desk.

"I have spoken with your father this morning," she said, folding her hand and resting them upon the surface of the desk.

"You did?"

She smiled. "He had much to say in regards to you," she said.

"Did Father have a message for me?" he asked, forcing the unease from his voice.

"Only that you hold great promise," she said with a sweet smile, "and that I should expect nothing less."

Draco swallowed hard. "Thank you, Professor," he said with a nod, his stomach clenching painfully. "I won't let you down."

"I would hope not," she said as the bell rang, Draco looking up and then back at Professor Umbridge. Standing, Umbridge clasped her hands. "The bell has wrung, my dear," she said. "Best to not dawdle, now."

"Of course not," Draco said, making his way to the door.

"Which class are you headed to?"

Draco looked back. "Ancient Runes," he said.

"Professor Babbling teaches that course, does she not?"

"She does," he answered, wanting nothing more than to be relieved of her presence.

"Right she does. If she gives you much difficulty at being late," she said, "refer her to me."

Nodding, Draco smiled. "I will. Thank you, Professor."

"Anything for the heir to Lucius Malfoy." Professor Umbridge gazed adoringly upon Draco, his insides twisting in such a way he feared he would be ill. "And now I have a class to attend to. Off you go, Draco," she said, exiting through a side door, a classroom of first years visible for a brief moment.

Once in the empty hallway, Draco let his façade fall. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and simply allowed himself to breath. His insides seemed to quiver as the forever suppressing walls surrounding his life pressed just a little bit more. Father was everywhere, and he could not escape. He let out a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair as the begrudgingly familiar scent of smoke filled the air. Draco dropped his arms to his sides and opened his eyes, stopping to stare at his fingers.

Fine tendrils of smoke curled upwards from the tips of each finger, like that of a smoking gun. Shock coursed through his system, chilling and burning all at the same time. Stumbling, he caught himself on the wall and slid down to the floor as he watched his fingers smoke. And he watched, the only thing he seemed capable of doing in that moment, as he realized what he had once hoped was only a myth, was in fact reality, a reality brought upon him at the worst moment and in the worst fashion.

* * *

Hermione sat in Ancient Runes that afternoon, her text opened to page five, dutifully reading as Professor Babbling had instructed the class to do after finishing the review quiz. Turning the page, she allowed her eyes to studiously glide across the page from line to line, an action obviously characteristic of her, an action used to cover up her immediate worries and concerns.

Draco had always sat beside her, his presence a solid constant in that class. However, that afternoon his desk remained empty, no reason as to his disappearance evident. And Hermione was worried.

Halfway through the class, the door opened, Draco entering. Professor Babbling glanced up, her eyebrow rising questioningly in Draco's direction.

"I was with Professor Umbridge," he explained, Hermione's ears perking up.

Draco sat down, Hermione glancing over at him. He sat upright, his book open to the first page and a few tendrils of hair falling in his eyes. To the world, he seemed as usual. Yet, Hermione noticed the tension in his neck and his jaw muscles flexing as he ground his teeth together. His fingers worried the upper corner of the page, and he smelled of smoke. Tearing off a corner of parchment, Hermione grabbed her quill and wrote him a brief note.

_Professor_ _Umbridge? What did she want?_

_-HG_

Glancing up for a brief moment, Hermione tossed the note onto his desk. Draco unfolded the parchment, read it, and responded.

_Father is in communication with her. She wanted to let me know that she has high expectations of me._

_-DM_

Another note passed between them.

_So, basically she's watching you._

_-HG_

Draco read her note, nodded, and replied with a sigh.

_Yeah._

_-DM_

Hermione frowned at his note and inhaled deeply, the air still smelling smoky. With a moment's thought, she replied.

_We have to be careful then. May I ask you a question?_

_-HG_

Cocking his head in faint confusion, Draco picked up his quill and replied, tossing the folded parchment onto Hermione's desk.

_Why do you feel like you have to ask? Of course, you can ask me anything…within reason, mind you._

_-DM_

Her quill ready, she took a second to think out how to word her question, hoping she wasn't about to tread on sensitive ground.

_I know it's a peculiar question, but I've noticed lately that you smell of smoke sometimes. Why is that?_

_-HG_

Draco froze at her message. The parchment crumpled in his hand and fell to the floor. He ignored her questioning looks and the next folded note that landed on his desk. This was not happening; it simply could not happen to him. He was a Malfoy, plain and simple. Malfoys didn't…they couldn't…he wasn't… Draco sighed his defeat and let his head drop to his desk in a manner uncharacteristic to his outward persona until the class ended.

Hermione stood, her book bag in hand, once Professor Babbling had dismissed the class. Draco rose as well and paused as the professor called out to him.

"A moment if you will, Draco," she requested from behind her desk.

Nodding, Draco made his way to the front of the room as the rest of the class filed out into the corridor. Hesitating at the doorway, she glanced between Draco and the students passing in the hallway. Further down the hallway, she spotted Ron and Harry approaching her classroom, Defense Against the Dark Arts being the next class they all shared. Biting her lip, she cast one last parting look at Draco before leaving the room.

* * *

"So, she definitely knows about us," Draco theorized Tuesday afternoon in the library.

Hermione nodded. "There's no other explanation for her helping us out the other night," she said.

Leaning back in his chair, Draco ran his hand through his hair. "What if she tells? We don't even really know her. And how did she find out anyways? This makes no sense, no sense at all," he said.

Hermione sighed and unconsciously twirled her quill in her fingers. "I don't know, but I don't think Luna will tell."

"Why not? Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger…best friends," he said as if announcing to a crowd. "Anybody would jump at that opportunity."

"Not Luna," Hermione said. "Wouldn't you think she would have already told somebody by now?"

"Maybe she's going to blackmail us," he said.

"She's not going to blackmail us," she said with a roll of the eye.

"And why not?" he asked. "I certainly would."

Hermione raised a single eyebrow in a disbelieving manner. "This is Luna Lovegood. She's not of the blackmail sort."

"And how do you know?" he asked, his eyes darkening in the slightest.

"Luna doesn't catch me as the type to resort to blackmail. If blackmail's your thing, then so be it, but not Luna," Hermione said.

Draco glowered. "So, are you saying I would rat us out given the chance?"

Taken aback, Hermione shook her head. "Of course not."

"But isn't that what you're saying?"

"Draco, that's not what I said," she said. "You misunderstood me."

"Then what did you mean?" he demanded.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Draco, why are you getting so upset over this? What's going on?"

"I'm not upset."

"You obviously are," she said.

"Shut up, Granger," he shouted. "You don't understand. You never do."

Hermione looked away uneasily. "Why are you shouting at him?" she asked, feeling more upset and put out than expected, his outburst hitting a rather tender chord.

Opening his mouth to answer, Draco froze, his eyes flicking back and forth in sudden awareness of what he'd just said. "Hermione…Hermione, I…I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. Draco looked at her hesitantly, running a hand through his hair. "Umbridge has been hovering over me. I can't seem to escape her." Draco gave her a meaningful look. "I'm just stressed out. I didn't mean to yell at you…I'm sorry."

Remaining silent, Hermione rested her chin in the palm of her hand and stared at Draco. Then, reaching out her hand, Hermione grabbed his hand. "It's…it's ok," she said.

Matching her posture, he returned her stare. After a minute or two, he shook his head and grabbed his quill and stared at his half-finished essay. "It doesn't matter," he said with a flick of his hand. "I need to finish this essay."

"But it does matter," she said.

Draco looked up. "Please, just drop it, Granger. I'm not in the mood to talk about it right now."

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes flicking back and forth as she searched his own. "Right, essays," she said, pulling one of the books closer to her. Flipping through the pages, she settled down and began reading.

His quill scratching across the parchment, Draco focused on detailing the properties of the Draught of Peace potion. Finishing his sentence with a pointed period, Draco sighed and glanced up. Hermione sat with her head bent, her mop of curls spilling over and onto the table. Waning sunlight coming in through the window glistened in her hair, alighting her in an iridescent glow. His stomach swam at these thoughts of her, his heart beginning to race. She was beautiful; and for some reason, that thought consumed his mind.

Hermione glanced up. "What?" she asked.

He blinked rapidly, coming out of his daze. "Huh?"

"You were staring at me," she said. "Do I have ink on my nose or something?"

"Oh, no," he said. "You're fine."

"Right," she said slowly, eyeballing him.

Draco fidgeted in his chair, his eyes drifting from Hermione, to the ceiling, then the window, and then back to Hermione. "What are you reading?" he asked, gesturing to the book.

She held up the large book, _Mystical Creatures: A Guide to the Beasts of Myth_. "I'm looking for a mythological creature to write my essay on," she said.

They'd both had Care of Magical Creatures earlier that day, Professor Grubbly-Plank, Hagrid being out on an unknown mission for Dumbledore, assigning the first major essay of the year in the first class of the term.

"Why are you doing that now?" he asked. "It isn't due for two weeks."

"It's a four foot essay, Draco," she said simply as she scanned the page. "I like…"

"I know, I know," he interrupted. "You like to be prepared."

"Exactly." She turned the page, her eyes skimming down the parchment page. "I'm just trying to decide what creature to do. There are so many."

"Why don't you just close your eyes and point to one," he said, closing his own eyes and reaching out with his finger. Jabbing a particular spot on the page, he opened his eyes and craned his neck to read the words written on the page. "Heliopaths," he said. "There, write your essay on Heliopaths."

Hermione sighed, brushing hair out of her face. "I could," she said. "They certainly are interesting. But…"

"But what?"

"They just don't catch my fancy."

"I thought you said they were interesting."

"They are. They are very interesting…fascinating even."

"Then what's the problem?" he asked.

"I want to research a creature that stands out," she said. "I want to learn about something truly fascinating…truly unique…truly outstanding of its own accord."

"Well, I always thought Heliopaths were fascinating," he said.

"Then you write about them," she said, closing the book and picking it up. "Whatever I'm looking for isn't in this book."

Hermione stood from the table and quickly immersed herself in the stacks of books packed into the library. Sliding the thick book back into its proper place in the Care of Magical Creatures section, Hermione slowly wandered down the aisle, a stack of books slowly growing in her arms. _Creatures of Never and Nowhere…Beasts of Myth…Animals From Legend: A Detailed Guide…Legendary and Mythical Beasts… _She returned to the table and immediately delved into the knowledge and information contained within.

"What do you think about Wyverns?" she asked, _Beasts of Myth_ open before her.

"Boring," he said, finishing up his essay.

She nodded. "You're right, they are," she said, turning a couple pages. "Oh, Enochs sound interesting. _…a large animal with the capacity to drink whole rivers of water. They have Biblical ties with the End of Days…_" she read from the book, her head tilted to the side pensively.

Draco raised his eyebrows at her, Hermione staring at him for a moment before shaking her head at the idea and moving on. His essay finished, Draco pulled _Legendary and Mythical Beasts_ towards him and opened it to a random page. "Here's one," he said, pushing the book across the table, his finger pointing to a picture of a winged deer running through a forest.

Grabbing the book, Hermione read the caption beneath the image. "_The Peryton distinguishes itself from other winged creatures by casting a shadow of a man_." The Peryton in the picture came to a halt, streams of sunlight breaking through the leaves of the tree and casting its light upon the animal. Its shadow extended behind it, nearly brushing the edge of the image; the distinct form of a long torso, arms, legs, and a head were cast upon the ground.

"I think that sounds promising," he said.

Hermione looked at the picture again, read the few paragraphs about the Peryton, and cast her eyes back to the image, watching as the winged-deer sprinted through the trees. "It is interesting…" she said.

"But…" he said.

She glanced up at him. "It just doesn't catch my fancy. I need to keep looking," she said, rifling through the stack of books.

Peering at the mountain of books on the table, Draco reached his hand in and pulled out a thin, aged book. "Here," he said, handing it to Hermione. "Try this one."

She took the book and read the title. "_Creatures Thought Not to Exist: A Disbeliever's Guide_. I don't remember grabbing this book," she said, peering at the cover suspiciously.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe it was tucked into one of your other books."

"Possibly," she said absentmindedly as she opened the book.

The book was old, ancient even, the edges of the parchment crinkling as Hermione turned the pages. Page after page, nothing seemed to stand out. The same mythical beasts crossed her vision…Heliopaths…Perytons…Enochs…Harpies…She needed something that would not only catch her eye, but the professor's eye. Hermione wanted to make a statement that not only was she dedicated to her schoolwork, but that she completed it with enough conscientious care that it reeked of originality.

And then she found it, the perfect creature. She ran her fingers along the faded words in the text.

_…a creature so shrouded in the mists of legend, it was once fabled to have walked the Earth before humans…_

Hermione smiled, a great welling of joy building in her chest and she spun the book around and shoved it at Draco, who'd busied himself with revising his essay. He looked up at her.

"I found it," she said, her finger pointing to a tiny, nearly unmoving picture on the page. A figure crouched in the foreground, male in appearance. From his back grew a pair of black wings folded against his body. The wings had caught her attention, but it was the ball of fire held in his open hands that had kept it.

Draco found it hard to breathe, his mouth going dry and his vision blurring, as he read the caption beneath the picture.

_The Ignius, both so human and non-human in existence._

His heart hammered in his chest, the muscle tensing and pulling at his nerves. And all he could do was stare at that picture.

"Draco?" Hermione asked slowly, tentatively placing a hand over his, currently clenched into a painful fist.

Draco jerked his head up, the essay beside him bursting into flame. Both snapped their attention to the fire, Draco frozen in shock while Hermione hastily smothered the flames with her book. Mouth open in shock, Hermione stared at Draco. His eyes were wild, frantic in their wide depths, as his mouth opened and closed without a sound coming forth. Gripping the edge of the table, Draco shoved his chair away and ran from the table and the image in the book still lying wide open upon it.


	23. Nihil Non Ruo Pariter

**Author's Note** – And, I'm back! Firstly, I must say that I absolutely loved Deathly Hallows. It's given me so many wonderful ideas for Fire Dragon. Secondly, I would like to extend much thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You guys rock! Thirdly, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for.

**Another Note – **The title means "Everything Falls Together" in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter and Co.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Three**

"Nihil Non Ruo Pariter"

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed, the drapes pulled around, cloaking her in nearly impenetrable darkness. From her wand, a beam of light shone on the open pages of _Creatures Thought Not to Exist: A Disbeliever's Guide_. Her fingers brushed over the picture at the top of the page, watching as the ball of fire rolled and flexed in the Ignius' hands. His eyes were trained on the flame, manipulating and controlling it with the sheer force of his mind. And she watched, as the night tick away, fascinated by the idea of this creature.

In the bed beside her, Lavender turned over, a soft snore coming from her mouth as she settled back down into the pulls of sleep. Parting the drapes with her wand, Hermione peeked out for a mere moment before letting the curtains drop back into place and her eyes fall back to the book. And once again, the incident from earlier that week passed through her mind, as it had done several times in the past few days. What Draco had hastily passed off as accidental magic, Hermione knew to be more than that. Her mind screamed at her, pieces of a vast puzzle slowly falling into place, the final product still too vague to determine.

Returning her gaze to the book, Hermione glanced at the picture and read the short descriptive paragraph beneath the image for the tenth time that night. The creature called to her, seemingly wanting her to unravel the mysteries of its once mythical existence. And she knew, in that moment, that researching the Ignius had more meaning than just getting full marks on her essay.

* * *

The first week of school passed quickly, the weekend approaching to every student's relief. Saturday morning, the Great Hall slowly filled as students wandered in, most still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Draco, being among those students, entered and made his way to the Slytherin table, sliding onto the bench with practiced grace. The Daily Prophet arrived, several issues plunking down in front of various students around the Great Hall. Grabbing the issue that landed beside his plate, he quickly scanned the front page. A man by the name of Sturgis Podmore had broken into a high-security area in the Ministry of Magic. Nothing of interest there, Draco mused, leaving the newspaper forgotten in the middle of the table and returning to his breakfast.

Another owl, black of feather and regal in pose, landed beside Draco's plate and disdainfully stepped around his half-eaten breakfast. Draco glanced at the owl and sighed, outstretching his hand to retrieve the letter. The owl taking off and disappearing among the clouds enchanted into the ceiling, Draco gave the letter a look of trepidation before opening it with the flick of his thumb.

_Draco-_

_It has come to my understanding that you have come into your powers. I thought we had agreed on dormancy. Don't make me regret everything I have done for your benefit. You obviously don't understand the complexities of your situation. Malfoys are the epitome of greatness in the Wizarding World. We are expected to withhold a certain degree of pureness in our blood. Wizard and nothing else, Draco. Must I remind you once again of the decree of a Malfoy? It is becoming clearer and clearer that you are a disgrace to the Malfoy name and…_

He read no more, the parchment crumpling in his hand and quickly turning to singed ash as he strode out of the Great Hall, a fine trail of dying embers scattering on the floor in his wake.

* * *

Draco wasn't at lunch, that being the first thing Hermione noticed as she sat down beside Harry. Her eyes searched and researched the Slytherin table across the room, looking for any sign of her friend. And any signs of him, she did not find. The first tendrils of worry that she would feel that day settled in her stomach.

The library and their classroom remained of similar regard to the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy. Her arms crossed over her chest and her book bag hung over her shoulder, Hermione paced the corridors, wondering where he could possibly have gone…if anything had happened…if he was alright…if he was hurt…if he was upset…all 'ifs' Hermione fretted over as dinner came and went with no trace of him.

* * *

That night, Hermione sat alone in the Common Room, the flames dancing in the fireplace reflecting in her eyes. They jumped and contorted, flicking the edges of her vision, their outlines blurring. She let them pull her in, reveling in their comfort and warmth. Sighing, she closed her eyes and gripped the arms of the chair she sat in as waves of swirling anxiety rose in her being, tormenting her thoughts.

Beside her, she heard as somebody sat down beside her, the quiet shuffling of their clothing reaching her ears over the pops and cracks emitting from the fire.

"Hermione?"

Slowly, she opened her eyes, casting them sideways. Harry sat in the chair beside her, his body bent over and his elbows resting on his knees. He stared at her with concern lurking in his green eyes.

Rubbing a hand over her face, she took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Hey Harry," she said.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She sent him a quick glance before allowing her eyes to become buried in the flames. "Yes," she said, cringing at the obvious tone in her voice that no doubt told him the truth, the truth that she was not alright.

"I can tell when you're lying, Hermione," he said softly. "What's bothering you?"

She sighed and stared at her hands. "I'm worried, Harry."

"Worried?"

"Yes," she said, turning to look at him. "I'm worried about Draco."

"Why would you be worried about him?" he asked, the disdain at Draco being the center of the conversation pulling at his tone of voice.

"I haven't seen him all day."

"So?"

"He wasn't at lunch or dinner," she said.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he went to the kitchens," he said.

Sudden frustration rising in her throat, Hermione huffed. "That's not it," she said. "He's almost always in the Great Hall during meals. I haven't seen him all day. He hasn't been in the library…or outside…or in our classroom…or anywhere I know he tends to be. This just isn't like him."

He gave Hermione a moment's stare, frowning as he realized just how stressed and worked up she was. "Hermione," he began, "I'm sure he's fine."

"No," she whispered. "No, that isn't it. The number of times Draco has done something like this I can count on one hand, and each and every time it has been because something was wrong."

"That doesn't mean something's wrong this time," he said.

"Yes it does!" she stressed. "Something is wrong. Something has happened." And that something, she would bet, had to do with his father.

Harry shook his head. "You don't know that, Hermione," he said.

"You just don't get it, Harry. You just don't understand," she said as she stood up, her hands clenched. "And you never will!" With that, she stormed out of the room.

Sighing, Harry drooped and rested his head in his hands. Draco Malfoy had been and would always be a pain in his arse in his books, no matter his relation to Hermione.

* * *

Draco lay in bed, his knees bent and his hands buried in his hair. Around him, the familiar sounds of the night filled his dorm room, the crackling of the fire, the snores from Crabbe, and the shifting bedclothes as Goyle rolled over in his sleep, a string of jumbled words mumbling from his mouth.

He was tired, the weight of exhaustion pulling down on his body and fogging his mind. However, his father's letter kept running through his mind, the words haunting him.

…_you have come into your powers… _

Draco shut his eyes against the memory of those words.

…_agreed on dormancy._

Sighing, he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

_Don't make me regret…_

Regret was all he received from his father. Regret and disappointment. He never was good enough in his father's eye.

…_a disgrace to the Malfoy name…_

His fingers clenched and his face twisted as he strained to control his emotions, gasping in the process. That word rang in his head.

…_disgrace…_

It rang off-kilter and broken.

…_disgrace…_

The entirety of it haunted him, haunted everything that constituted the person he was.

…_a disgrace to the Malfoy name…_

Turning over, pulling the blankets along with him, Draco stared off into the darkness, his feelings and emotions unwinding and filling the space around him. His father always managed to be one step ahead of him. Nothing could be hidden from that man. He always knew everything that he wished to hide. Nearly everything, Draco thought, for nearly everything would mean the knowledge of Hermione. If there was a beacon of hope in Draco's life, it would be her. She meant salvation, salvation from fate, from himself, and from his father. And thankfully, that little bit of salvation he clung to was still in the dark in regards to his father.

Yet, Hermione posed a whole different sort of problem, a problem that had crept up on him with such stealth that denial of its existence had filled months of his life, denial of who he was, what he was. Purity of blood meant something entirely different to Draco, pureblood or not meaning nothing in the face of the truth. Wizard or Muggle had no ground when the blood coursing through his veins wasn't even human.

Draco turned onto his back and held his hands up, the pale silhouette of them appearing in the dark. Within him, he felt his power swirl, mingling and mixing with his own magic, each its own but joined in a way that bound one to the other. His power was his magic and his magic his power. With a deep breath, Draco drew tendrils up from the core, winding through his body and along his arms. Like a candle, a flame appeared in the palm of his hand, flickering and dancing before him. He felt the flame, felt it in his mind and poked at it with his power, the small flame jumping. Calling on more control, he wrapped his power around the flame and pushed upon it, forcing it into a ball, the ball of fire holding its shape for a brief moment before extinguishing with a wisp of smoke.

Letting his arms drop to his sides, Draco sighed and closed his eyes. His life had suddenly gotten so much more complicated than he could ever have imagined.

* * *

The library hummed with the quiet activity of those students using its vastness for studying, the sounds of quill upon parchment, turning pages, and the occasional whisper creating a mist of quietness through and throughout. Hermione sat in the midst of the other students, a stack of books in the corner of the table while various others lay scattered about her scroll of notes. Sighing, she glanced at her notes, or lack there of. As interesting a creature as the Ignius seemed, locating any information besides the basics was quickly becoming impossible. With a frustrated groan, Hermione discarded the book and grabbed another off of the top of the stack. The same picture, the same facts, and the same words met her, and she pushed the book away. There had to be more information on the Ignius. There just had to be.

Then, standing from the table, Hermione made her way to the front desk.

"Excuse me," she asked quietly of Madam Pince.

The librarian in question looked up from the pile of books sitting on the desk. "Yes?"

"I'm wondering if you could help me in locating something."

Placing her hands upon the desk, Madam Pince nodded. "And what would that be?"

"I'm researching the Ignius for an essay I'm writing, and I'm having trouble finding information."

Pulling a large book out from under the desk, the librarian opened it with a tap of her wand. Writing _Ignius_ at the top of the page, a list of books magically appeared beneath.

"Here," she said, turning the book around.

Scanning the books, Hermione readied herself to copy down the titles when she stopped. _Beasts of Myth…Legendary and Mythical Beasts…Creatures Thought Not to Exist: A Disbeliever's Guide…_ Frowning, she shook her head. "I've looked in all those books already," she said. "They don't have what I need."

Sighing impatiently, Madam Pince grabbed the book and tapped it twice with her wand. An entirely different list appeared. "There are two other books," she said. "_Secrets No Longer Known: What Nobody Remembers _and _A Study of Rare Mythological Creatures: The Truth Behind the Facts_"

"Oh wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, jotting down the book titles on a spare bit of parchment.

"They are in the Restricted Section," the librarian said, Hermione pausing. "You'll need a pass."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "Right, of course."

Giving Madam Pince a parting smile, she returned to the table. Sinking into the chair, she stared off into space. Getting a pass from Professor Grubbly-Plank would be difficult. He seemed of the practical sort, and Hermione imagined he would reason studying the Harpy or the Enoch over the Ignius in the face of her current dilemma. And suddenly, it seemed her quest to unravel the mysteries of the Ignius was squashed. Hermione bit her lip. Yet, if she allowed herself the thought, there was one other possibility, a possibility risking much more than just her grade, a possibility she figured only seemed legitimate after years of sneaking around with Harry and Ron. And with that brief thought, Hermione's mind was made up. Away with rules, she thought, the prim and proper section of her brain threatening to revolt at the mere idea. However, she was on a mission, a mission for knowledge, a mission for the truth.

* * *

The corridors were dark, the eerie quiet of the night chilling Hermione's bones as she crept towards the library. Covered by the shimmering material of Harry's invisibility cloak she had snatched earlier that night, she hoped and prayed to the Gods and to Merlin that Filch, Professor Umbridge, or Professor Snape weren't lurking just around the next corner. And it seemed luck was on her side that night as she reached the library with little difficulty and managed to unlock the library doors with a simple _Alohamora_.

Cloak wrapped tightly around her, she effortlessly made her silent trek across the library and into the Restricted Section. Slipping her hand into her robes, she retrieved the spare scrap of parchment, lit her wand, and read the two books listed.

"_Secrets No Longer Known: What Nobody Remembers_," she read, pointing the light from her wand along the stacks of books. "Where is it…ah hah!" Finding it, she quickly pulled it down and set it on the floor, setting out to find _A Study of Rare Mythological Creatures: The Truth Behind the Facts_.

Locating it minutes later, Hermione scooped up both books and paused. She felt tempted to take the books with her, knowing research and studying was best facilitated in optimal light. However, Hermione balked at the thought of removing a book from the library without the librarian's knowledge. Sighing, Hermione shifted on her feet for a moment before dropping to the ground. Making sure she was comfortable and that the cloak covered her entirely, she picked up _A Study of Rare Mythological Creatures: The Truth Behind the Facts_, flipping to the index before turning to the section on the Ignius.

Immediately, her attention was drawn to the magical image fronting the section, this one of better quality and of a different scene from the other one she had seen. Her fingers brushed over the figure in the picture, his wings fanning out majestically behind him, and his face turned, smiling at something not in the image, something only he could see. Hermione smiled softly, dragging her fingers down to read the text.

_The Ignius, a race of people predating humans, walked the Earth for thousands of years …_

Giddy excitement filled her, knowledge being the fuel in the smile upon her face.

_…until they faded from existence and into the tales of myth. Some, however, believe the Ignius still walk among the humans, choosing to live in the shelter of legend…_

Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Hermione fiddled with the corner of the page, her eyes glued to the words.

_Control of the fire element distinguishes the Ignius from other mythological creatures, the control coming from their core of magic._

And she kept reading, the power of an Ignius more intriguing than her own magic.

_Puberty in the Ignius is characterized by three distinct stages: Vis Veres, Mentium, and Ero Lumen._

And it was then that it happened, that something clicked in Hermione's mind. Everything turned cold, the words on the page contorting to highlight those few phrases that would forever change everything.

_…onset of Vis Vires…small, sporadic bursts of power…control is minimal…most common manifestation…a distinct smoky scent…_

A memory surfaced in her mind, a memory from that summer.

* * *

"_Draco?" Hermione sat up, her eyes wide with alarm. "Do you smell smoke?"_

_Sniffing the air, Draco shook his head. "No."_

_Hermione stood. "I do," she said, hopping down the few steps leading down to the ground. "Something's on fire." She turned and poked quickly through the bushes decorating the exterior of her house, her nose leading her like a _Point Me_ spell._

_Draco followed her, testing the air. "I still don't smell anything."_

_Frowning, Hermione glanced back at him. "I did," she said, turning and heading back to the porch steps. "I'm sure of it…right here."_

* * *

Subsequent memories followed, all of similar regard. And Hermione could only stare at those words.

_…onset of Vis Vires…control is minimal…smoky scent…_

Her mind gripped onto those last words.

_...smoky scent…_

The same memories passed before her eyes. Hermione shivered.

_…smoky scent…onset of Vis Vires…_

No longer able to look at the page in the book, Hermione slammed the book shut and got to her feet, slight trembles running down her body. She looked at the book in her hand, indecision waging a war in her thoughts as she glanced between the book's proper place on the shelf and the library doors off in the distance. Then, shoving the book under her arm, she strode out of the library. To hell with the rules, she thought. In the face of discovery, rules no longer mattered when there was the possibility of your best friend not even being human.

* * *

Monday morning, Hermione woke especially early, showering and dressing well before the rest of the school had even thought to open their eyes. Fatigue rested upon her shoulders, but sleep had escaped her the moment she had woken up that morning. She had spent the better part of the previous night, after the library, sitting in bed, Crookshanks cuddled close, with _A Study of Rare Mythological Creatures: The Truth Behind the Facts_ opened to the section about the Ignius. And as she read, the evidence had become incontrovertible. There could be no doubt what Draco was, there just couldn't be.

Walking briskly through the corridors, Hermione made her way to the Great Hall but stopped short one corridor away. Luna stood placidly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared up at the notice posted on the wall announcing Educational Decree #23, deeming Dolores Umbridge as High Inquisitor.

"It is a pity, isn't it?" Luna asked, her dreamy gaze still studying the notice.

"Pardon?" Hermione stopped, quirking her head inquiringly.

"The Ministry," she said. "They fear they are loosing ground…either that or Narckins have overrun the Ministry. Those can be dreadful." She gave Hermione a knowing look as if she should fully understand the significance.

"Really?" Hermione asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, my father's published an article about it in the Quibbler. About the Ministry…I have yet to tell him about the Narckins," she said, smiling as if she and Hermione had just shared a private joke.

"Right…um…I'll be sure to look for it then," she said.

"I have no doubt you will."

Just then, trickles of students began filling the corridor as they made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. From the dungeons, several Slytherins appeared, Draco in their midst.

"Well, if it isn't Loony Lovegood and Potty's girlfriend," he announced, strutting over as if he owned the place. Various students in passing glanced at the three standing off to the side, insults going between Draco and Hermione a regular occurrence in their eyes. To Draco, he had an image to uphold.

"Hello Draco Malfoy," Luna said, completely unaffected by his words.

Hermione stared at him, not hearing anything he said.

_The Ignius, a race of people…_

Words became trapped in her mouth. Her eyes became glued to his as his lips moved to form words, words she paid no mind to.

_…faded from existence…_

Luna appeared amused, a faint smile pulling on her features as she glanced from Draco to Hermione and back again.

_…a distinct smoky scent…Vis Vires…_

Apparently finished with whatever he felt the need to share, he smirked, his eyes glancing at the decree upon the wall. "You better watch your back, Granger," he said, walking away, bumping into Hermione in the process, a bit of parchment forced into her hand.

And she watched as he walked away, his hips swaggering, only one thing mattering at that moment, and only one thing going through her mind.

_Some, however, believe the Ignius still walk among the humans…_

It repeated continuously in a never-ending loop, her mind trapped within its circuit until Luna spoke.

"It is interesting," she said.

Hermione jerked back into the here and now. "What?"

"You and Draco," she said. "Your friendship."

"What?!" She glanced around suspiciously. "What…how…you know?"

Luna smiled. "I have always known."

Her eyes bulged. "But…we…"

Suddenly, Luna looked up as if something only she could see passed by. "I must go now," she said. "It was nice speaking with you." Walking off with a distinct bounce to her step, Luna hummed quietly to herself. Then, she stopped halfway down the hall and glanced back at Hermione. "But don't worry; your secret is safe with me." And with that, she turned the corner.

Completely and utterly gobsmacked, Hermione stood in the middle of the corridor, not sure if she believed her eyes or ears at that moment. Then, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head, she blinked and looked down at her hand, at the folded parchment still held within.

_I need to talk to you. I have Prefect duties and Quidditch practice tonight. Could we meet in our classroom during lunch?_

_-DM_

* * *

Directly after a very grueling Double Potions, Hermione made the trek up to their classroom, her book bag weighing down upon her shoulder and vapid butterflies making her stomach queasy. He sat upon the old teacher's desk, a plate of sandwiches beside him.

"Hey Granger," he said. "I called on the house-elves to fix us some lunch."

_Following Vis Vires, the young Ignius begins Mentium, the acquisition of wings…_

Hermione stared at him sitting upon the desk, the tips of his hair nearly reaching the top of his ears, curling slightly at the ends.

_An Ignius is, by instinct, a winged creature…_

She tried to envision him with a pair of wings…

_...fire being their element…_

…and a ball of fire instead of a sandwich held in his hand.

Draco frowned. "Oh, come on now," he said. "Don't start on the house-elves thing. This is the sort of thing they do."

Hermione came out of her daze. "What? Oh…no…um." She frowned and shook her head in confusion.

Peering at her curiously, Draco held out the plate of sandwiches. "I have tuna," he said. "I know that's your favorite."

She nodded and brushed the dust that had settled upon the desk surface over the summer away before sitting beside him. Reaching out, she grabbed half of a tuna sandwich and bit into it. It tasted bland. Sighing, she stared at the sandwich.

Draco leaned over. "Are you alright?" he asked.

His face was so close to hers, she could feel his breath upon her skin. She met his eyes, gray and clear as they tended to be now, and smiled. "I'm fine," she said, returning her attention to the sandwich. "Thank you for lunch."

"No problem," he said, turning and staring off into space as he chewed thoughtfully.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked.

Draco paused for a moment before putting his sandwich down and turning his full attention to Hermione. "I just wanted to apologize," he said.

Blinking in confusion, Hermione frowned. "Apologize?"

He nodded. "I know I've been rather distant lately," he said.

"Oh," she said, not realizing until that moment that she'd seen very little of Draco in the past few days.

"I…" he trailed off softly as he stared at his fingers. Hermione peered at him, her head tilted to the side. She remembered her worries from earlier and knew that something was indeed wrong. Setting her sandwich down, Hermione gently touched his arm. Draco looked up. "I received a letter from my father the other day."

"What was it about?" she asked.

"It's…well…it's complicated," he said, eyeing her in a peculiar manner.

She ran her hand down his arm and to his hand. "Try me," she said, spreading his fingers out with her own.

"Well…" He sighed, his eyes traveling down to where she held his hand. Slowly, her thumb ran over his, the skin to skin contact startlingly comforting and unnerving all in the same moment. Heat rushed to his face, and Draco ducked his head, letting his hair fall to hang in his eyes. "He…he just said some things that were upsetting," he mumbled, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

"You know that what ever he said wasn't true," she said.

"I know," he said, looking away.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Hermione paused, her mouth open to say something else when a thin tendril of smoke rose from his fingers. It curled and twisted, vanishing a moment later only to be replaced with another. Her skin went cold as her stomach solidified into ice. Draco, not noticing his smoking fingers sighed and unraveled his fingers from hers. Popping the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, he stood and threw his bag over his shoulder. Overhead, the bell rang, announcing the end of lunch and the start of afternoon classes.

"Come on," he said, walking to the door. "We have Ancient Runes."

Staring at him incredulously for a moment, she then grabbed her bag and followed, the memory of his smoking fingers firmly imprinted in her mind.

* * *

**Yet Another Note** – Here's some interesting information:

**Ignius**is derived from the Latin word, Ignis, which means 'fire'.

**Vis Vires** is Latin for power.

**Mentium** is derived from the Latin word, Incrementum, which means 'growth'.

**Ero Lumen**is derived from the Latin words, Quaero Lumen, which means 'search for light'.


	24. Gressus In Legitiums Discessio

**Author's Note – **Welcome! Sit back, read, review, and enjoy.

**Another Note – **The title means, "A Step in the Right Direction," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter…unfortunately.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four**

"Gressus In Legitiums Discessio"

* * *

The remaining days filling the week were spent doing the ordinary things students often found themselves doing: going to class, studying, writing essays, eating, sleeping, and yearning for those few moments in the day where one could just sit back and relax. Hermione reveled in the familiar routine of her week, thanking her busy schedule for chasing away everything that had been flitting about in her head lately, mainly the tiny fact that Draco most likely wasn't human. More often than not, she found herself laughing at the idea, the absurdity of it all seeming funny. However, all it took to convince her again was one glance at Draco, a sniff of smoke, or for those words to pass through her mind again. 

…_onset of Vis Vires …most common manifestation…a distinct smoky scent…_

Yet, Hermione strived onward, as she always did. If Draco were indeed an Ignius, that didn't change anything between them. They were friends, good friends at that, and nothing could change that. And so, life continued in its usual fashion.

Friday evening, after dinner, Hermione and Draco studied within the safety of their classroom, the door magically locked and a chair wedged under the handle for good measure.

"She's everywhere," Draco mumbled, paging idly through _Defensive Magical Theory_. "I think I see more of her than I do of you."

It had been a difficult week, Umbridge's hold over the school tightening as she settled into her position as High Inquisitor.

"I know what you mean," Hermione responded, quoting a line in her essay from her text book, grimacing the entire way.

Earlier that day, the library had ceased to be a safe place for them to meet, Umbridge taking a habit to observing the students within and questioning Madam Pince on a regular basis.

"She'll catch us eventually," Draco worried. "And then she'll tell Father."

Looking up, Hermione met his eyes. "Then we just have to be one step ahead of her," she said. "And we have to make sure we don't do anything that would set her off."

"I think that's easier said than done," he said quietly.

Draco slouched in his chair, his chin propped up by his hands. Hair fell into his face, but he didn't bother to brush it away. Hermione ignored, or rather didn't notice, his attentive gaze, her attention too busied with her essay. Her hand rested upon the page of _Defensive Magical Theory_, her eyes flicking back and forth from the text to her essay with concentration and regularity. As her quill scribbled away on her parchment, the crease between her eyebrows deepened, the lines of her mouth hardening with each word written. Her frustration and disgust was evident, and Draco couldn't blame her, his own Defense essay barely started before him.

Finally having enough, Hermione threw down her quill. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I've had enough of this essay," she said.

Draco watched her rant and rave, a small smile forming on his lips. "I'm surprised you've worked on it this long. I quit ages ago."

Hermione shook her head. "I've had a week to get this done," she said, looking up at him. "It's only two feet, but every time I sit down to work on it, I just…I just can't."

"It's an insult to our intelligence, really," he said.

"Exactly," she said in return. "She knows we're capable of more than this. Yet she sees it fit to hold us back."

"It's the Ministry that's trying to hold us back," he said.

"Her entire class…and once again, I can't believe I'm saying this…but her entire class is rubbish."

Draco snorted. "I think anybody with half a brain would figure that out."

Hermione pursed her lips and hardened her eyes. "And her entire stance on You-Know-Who's return is complete and utter tripe."

"It's a direct message from the Ministry," he said. "They don't want the general population to believe he's returned. Keep them in the dark and everything."

She shook her head. "No, it's more than just that."

"Well, of course it's more than that," he said. "My father works for the Ministry…my father's a Deatheater…" Draco raised his eyebrows, the rest of the meaning of his statement hanging in the air.

"They're buying him time," she said. "Time to start rebuilding his forces."

Draco nodded. "Exactly."

Hermione paused for a quick beat. "Can I run an idea by you?"

"Sure."

"You agree that we're never going to learn anything useful from Umbridge."

As if to say, 'Isn't that obvious?' Draco quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk. "That would be a yes."

"Well, what if we take Defense into our own hands?" she said.

"What? Teach ourselves?"

"Yeah…"

"Who'd teach us? You?"

"No," she said. "Harry."

"Potter?"

She nodded.

"Why Potter?"

"I've already spoken to him about it," she said. "A lot of people look up to him. They trust him. Plus, he knows a lot about Defense already. Did you know he can create a corporeal Patronus?"

"No he can't."

"He can," she said. "I've seen it."

"Then what form does it take?"

"A stag."

Crossing his arms, Draco regarded her with plenty of skepticism. "Prove it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Draco…"

"Come on, Granger…"

"What? Do you want me to fetch him now?" she asked, not an inch of her willing to actually get Harry to dispel Draco's disbelief.

"Yeah."

"You're so difficult."

"It's my charm, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's get back on topic here, Draco," she said. "What do you think about the whole idea?"

He gave her a moment's thought. "Aside from Potter teaching it, I think it's a great idea," he said. "The rate we're going, by the end of the year we'll have become stupider."

Giving him a half-laugh, Hermione smiled. "For that, I'm sure you're right."

Draco matched her grin, his eyes shining and his teeth showing from between his lips. Then, glancing at the clock on the wall, his eyes widened in alarm and his body tensed. "Oh shit! It's past curfew."

Draco stood, grabbing Hermione's hand and pulling her to her feet. Tossing their things back into their bags, they crept to the door. Hand on the handle, Draco slowly turned it, the door opening a crack, and he peeked out, slamming the door just as quickly as he'd opened it.

"Filch," he said as an explanation.

"Right," Hermione whispered, her eyes big and reflecting the moonlight coming in through the window.

Draco looked into those eyes and then at the door as Filch's mutterings grew louder and then softer as he passed.

Rechecking the corridor, Draco nodded. "It's clear," he said, stepping out into the hallway, Hermione's hand still held within his.

Without making barely a sound, they tiptoed down the corridor by wandlight, their backs pressed to the wall and their hands joined. Shadows silently crept up the walls, moonlight illuminating sections of slumbering portraits. Turning a corner, Draco hastily pushed Hermione back, The Gray Lady drifting past, her long hair trailing behind her. Hearts racing, they continued onward relatively undisturbed until a corridor away from the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"The entrance is just down this way," Hermione whispered. "I'll be ok."

"I told you I'd walk you back to your Common Room, so that's what I'm doing," he retorted.

"And I told you that I'll be perfectly fine."

"Don't be difficult, Granger," he said, tugging on her arm.

Hermione stayed her ground. "Difficult? Difficult?! I'm not the difficult one here," she said.

"Then let me walk you to the entrance."

"No."

"Why not?"

She huffed indignantly. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, I'll let you know."

Draco paused for a minute before smirking. "You don't want me to know where the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room is."

Puffing her cheeks out in annoyance, Hermione frowned. "That is not it, and you know it."

"Well, it doesn't matter," he said with a wave of his hand. "I already know where the entrance is."

"You do n…" she said, but found her mouth quickly covered by Draco's hand as she was pulled back in the direction from whence they came.

With horror, she watched as a beam of wandlight appeared at the end of the hallway, somebody turning a corner. She barely had enough time to catch a flash of pink before Draco had dragged her halfway down the adjacent corridor. Finding herself suddenly shoved into a tiny alcove situated behind a suit of armor, Hermione held her breath. Carefully measured footsteps clipped down the hallway, coming nearer and nearer with each gasping breath she and Draco took. Gripping the material of his shirt, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead against Draco's chest.

Draco stood stock still, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. Whether it be from Umbridge's close proximity or Hermione being pressed up against him, he didn't know. Each breath came as a shaky gasp, the light from the wand coming closer. And he tensed, every muscle in his body constricting, as he ducked his head, burying his nose in Hermione's hair in an attempt to make himself smaller, to make himself invisible to prying eyes.

Umbridge's footsteps passed them, to both Hermione and Draco's great relief. However, once the danger of being found passed, they soon found themselves in another sort of situation, an issue to the lack of distance between both of them. Hearts raced and skin flushed, the weight of awkwardness settling in the air around them. Smoke nearly choked the air they breathed, Hermione struggling to stay calm in the face of so many emotions stacking one up on the other all in the same moment.

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up on end as pleasant chills scattered down his back as Hermione awkwardly removed her hands from his shirt. He too was aware of the smoke filling the air. How could he not? It sent his stomach into knots.

Wiping her hands uncomfortably on her skirt, Hermione tried to take a step back, but hit the wall at her back. "Um…I…"

"Oh…uh…" He ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck and looked away, his elbow making contact with the stone wall.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione shook her head, freeing her mind of the fog that had descended upon it within the past two minutes. "Not to worry," she said softly, carefully extracting herself from the small alcove they'd managed to squeeze themselves into. Sweeping her eyes up and down the hall, she offered her hand to Draco, who took it and carefully stepped around the suit of armor. Hand in hand, they headed in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room, memories of the moment that had just occurred almost too fresh in their minds.

* * *

"Where were you last night?" Ginny asked the next morning at breakfast. 

"Studying," Hermione replied, perusing the Saturday edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

"I checked the library. You weren't there," she said, the smile evident in her voice.

"You obviously didn't look hard enough," she said easily, turning the page of the paper.

"I checked each table, even the ones hidden in the back," Ginny said. "And the stacks…caught quite a few people snogging," she added. "None of them you."

Immediately, Hermione turned red. Ron and Harry glanced upwards, sensing their friend's discomfort, their attention holding once the topic of her embarrassment became evident.

"So, where'd you go?"

"Um…I…"

Ginny grinned. "You were with Mystery Bloke, weren't you?" she announced with excitement.

"I…"

"Oh, no need to deny it, Hermione," she said, spreading a pat of butter onto her toast. "It's quite obvious."

"It is not!"

"Oh, yes it is," she said with a definite tone in her voice. "You're as red as my hair."

Sighing, Hermione ducked her head. "Ok, ok, so I was with Mystery Bloke."

Ginny perked up, her eyes sparkling. "Oh! She admits it," she said scandalously.

"But we were only studying," she said quickly.

"Studying my arse," she said.

"We were!"

"Right and my mother's a Hippogriff."

Absolutely horrified, the images of last night popping up in her mind, Hermione's blush deepened into a rich burgundy, the color reaching her ears. Chancing a glance, she caught Ron's eye, his eyebrow raised as Harry studied her with a small frown hidden beneath his fringe. Her eyes flicked back and forth for a moment, before Hermione quickly gathered up her belongings and high-tailed it out of the Great Hall, her embarrassment burning beneath the hair that had turned into a curtain, hiding her face.

* * *

"Harry, can I speak to you?" Hermione asked later that night in the common room. 

Having been sitting beside the fire with Ron, he glanced at her before standing up. "Sure," he said. "I've actually been meaning to speak to you too."

Exiting the common room, Hermione opened her mouth to speak at the exact moment Harry did, both of them halting.

She laughed. "You go first."

He gave her a half-grin and rubbed his neck awkwardly, his expression and body posture dragging down on him, making him look forlorn. "Is there something going on between you and Malfoy?" he asked, the question almost sudden and abrupt between them.

"What? No," she said.

Harry looked at her, his eyes sad. "Hermione…tell me the truth, what's going on?"

She sighed. "Harry…we're…we're just friends," she said, a part of her revolting at the thought, the same part that made her heart pitter-patter at the mere thought of him.

He stared at her.

"Really," she said, trying to sound convincing.

"Really?"

"Yes," she said.

"Oh," he said softly.

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Are you alright, Harry?"

He sighed heavily, almost angrily, and glowered at the ground. "I feel like everybody's hiding something from me," he said with conviction.

"Harry…"

"No, Hermione!" he shouted, stopping in the middle of the hallway, Nearly Headless Nick drifting past, his ghostly face watching them warily. "Professor Dumbledore won't look at me, let alone speak to me."

"Harry, he means well."

"Really? Have you looked at who he's hired for Defense?"

"Dumbledore had no say in that, Harry. She was Ministry appointed."

"And that matters?" he demanded. "The woman has a personal vendetta against me."

Hermione sighed, staring at the ground as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Harry, we…"

"Everybody is against me this year."

"That's not true."

He held up his hand, bright red scars spelling out, _I will not tell lies_, contrasting shockingly against his pale skin. "Then what are these?"

"I've said you should go to Professor Dumbledore about that," she said quietly.

"The man won't speak to me."

Again, she sighed. "Harry…"

"And did you know I've been having these dreams? Awful dreams, Hermione."

"Harry, you…"

"No, you haven't, have you?" he bit out. "And you know why? Because you've been spending all your time with Draco _Bloody_ Malfoy."

Looking at the wall, Hermione felt her eyes begin to water.

"And now I can't help but feel that you're hiding something from me."

Hermione paused, her eyebrows drawn together. "Harry…" she said quietly.

"What?"

"Draco and I…we…we're…"

"You're what?"

She looked up at him. "We're just friends, and that's all."

And just friends, they were. Right? Hermione frowned and shook her head. Of course Draco and she were just friends. The idea of there being something more was just absurd. However, as she and Harry walked on, a small part of her questioned why it was absurd for there to be more. Hermione squashed that small part of her down.

"Just friends?"

"Yeah," she said.

"You promise?" he asked, fidgeting slightly.

She nodded, swallowing against the feeling that somewhere, deep down, her next statement would be a lie. "Yeah."

"So," Harry said after several minutes of silence. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"Oh, right." Hermione looked to the side, the idea of asking Harry to collaborate with Draco suddenly seeming like the wrong type of thing to bring up. She shook her head and smiled. "It was nothing, Harry."

He gave her a hesitating look before shrugging and sighing softly. "Ok, Hermione."

* * *

Sunday brought about warmth that permeated the grounds. Sun shining, students vacated the castle and chose to spend the day outside, the near summer weather certainly not going to waste. Hermione lay in the grass away from all the other students, the sun beating down on her face. Breathing in deep, the air smelling of the rich aroma of sunshine and grass, she smiled. Beside her, Draco lay, his hands behind his head and his eyes shut. A faint breeze picked up the loose strands of his hair, now nearly brushing his cheeks, and made them dance and twist in the air. The merest hint of a tan kissed the apples of his cheeks, the rest of his skin a pearly white. 

"I talked to Harry yesterday," Hermione said.

"Oh yeah?" he said, cracking one eye open to peer at her. "What did The-Angst-That-is-Known-as-Potter have to say?"

"What?!" Pushing herself up to rest on her elbows, Hermione looked at Draco with shock tinted around the edges of her scolding.

He quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "Please, Granger, Potter walks through the halls with a dark cloud hanging over his head. If he isn't the epitome of teenaged angst, then I don't know what is."

She scoffed. "Like you have any room to talk!"

"Who…me?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, you," she said, poking him in the shoulder. "You're a walking ball of angst yourself, sometimes, Draco."

"I am not."

"Yes…you are," she said.

"Malfoys don't get angsty," he said.

"Then you're obviously not a Malfoy," she said.

"Hey!"

"Draco, admit it, you're just as moody as Harry," she said.

"I will not."

She rolled her eyes and turned on her side, facing Draco. "Either way, Draco, just leave Harry out of it. He's having a hard time of things."

Draco opened his mouth as if to add something, but closed it at the last second. "Ok, I'll leave Potter alone," he said petulantly.

"Good." She picked at the grass and the small autumn flowers blooming amongst the green.

Silence forming between the two, a silence not uncomfortable but with a definite tone to it, Draco stared at Hermione, something he'd taken to doing often in the past week or so. He studied her, his eyes combing through her hair and brushing up against the skin of her face. The familiar swirls and spirals growing in his stomach rose in his throat, these feelings not foreign to him anymore. He knew his feelings regarding Hermione had changed from when they had first become friends. It wasn't admitting that he had these feeling that seemed to scare him; it was rather the nature of the feelings that created the uneasy and often fluttery sensations in his stomach every time he stopped to stare at her, every time his thoughts got a chance to wrap themselves around her.

Hermione ran her fingers through the grass and looked up at Draco through her eyelashes, freezing once she noticed he was staring back at her. Slowly, almost as if he didn't want to startle her, Draco reached out. She watched, her hand frozen among the blades of grass and her mouth open just the slightest bit. The world around them dissolved into nothing, nothing existing except that which lay between them and only them. Softly, his fingers ran down her cheek, shivers raining down on her.

And it was this sensation that snapped her out of her daze. Sitting up quickly, Hermione averted her gaze, her heart beating far too fast. "Um…we should return to the castle. We have to…to study and everything," she said faintly, standing up and grabbing her things.

Draco sat up, running his hand through his hair before getting to his feet. "Right," he said quietly, darting his gaze around in bewilderment. "Studying…"

And in identical fogs of confusion and shock, Hermione and Draco walked off, their heads in completely different worlds, but worlds with such similar settings and characters that they could have been one and the same.

* * *

**Random Props – **First, I've created a Harry Potter forum. It's jam-packed full of fun, games, parties, scavenger hunts, and general silliness. Go check it out! www(dot)ravenclawsarmy(dot)eamped(dot)com Also, I've put together a Draco/Hermione fan film, and I have posted it on You Tube. It doesn't have anything to do with Fire Dragon, but you might like it. Check it out at: www(dot)youtube(dot)com(forward slash)watch(questionmark)v(equal sign)4nuus(underscore)OroJc 


	25. Veritus

**Author's Note – **I know. This chapter took way, way too long to get out. School has started up again and my hectic life as a preschool teacher has returned…aka no more frequent summer updates. Don't worry though, the updates will come, if only less frequent.

**Another Note – **The title means "Truth," in Latin I believe.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Harry Potter, Parry Hotter, Roonil Wazlib, or anything to do with our favorite wizards and witches…um…right…

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Five**

"Veritus"

* * *

"Hermione, no." Harry glared darkly at a hanging tapestry in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Harry, please, just hear me out," Hermione pleaded, grabbing her friend's arm.

"There is nothing to say," he said. "I want nothing to do with him."

"But if you both work together…"

"No."

"Draco knows a lot about defense."

"I don't care."

"He's not all that bad of a person, Harry," she said.

He snorted. "Right, I forgot. He's Saint Malfoy now," he said mockingly.

Frowning disapprovingly, Hermione crossed her arms. "Give this a chance."

"Have you even asked him if he wants to work with me?" Harry asked.

Hermione faltered. "Well…no…"

Harry spread his arms wide. "Then why are you even asking me?" he shouted before stalking off.

* * *

"Granger, no," Draco said simply.

"Draco, please, be reasonable."

"Reasonable?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You want me to be reasonable?"

"Well, yes," she said. "If both of you work together, then more can be accomplished."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's bad enough that I have to see Potter every day in class. Do I have to see him outside class too?"

"Well, that's the general idea, yes."

"Then, no."

"Draco…"

"No."

"Please…"

"No."

"Why are you being difficult?"

"I'm not being difficult," he said.

"Yes you are."

"No," he said smirking. "_I'm_ being the reasonable one here."

"Don't you go turning my words around on me!"

"Really, Granger," he said, pausing to glance at her. "Have you even thought this through?"

"Of course I have!"

"Then you realize putting me and Potter in the same room would have disastrous results, right?"

Hermione took her turn to roll her eyes. "Honestly, I think both of you are mature enough to cooperate for an hour or two."

"You _are_ talking about me and Potter…right?" he asked skeptically.

Blowing a frustrated puff of air out of her mouth, Hermione stood up and stalked out of the room, mumbling about the audacity of immature prats as she slammed the door.

* * *

"Come on, Granger, don't be angry," Draco said the next day.

"I'm not angry," she said, sitting slouched in one of the desks in their classroom.

"Then why are you glowering at me?" he asked, studying her features, concluding that she looked rather cute when angered.

"Because you're being difficult," she said. "Both you and Harry."

Leaning forward, Draco rested his arms on the desktop. "We're being practical, really," he said. "Potter and I working together would never work out. All we'd do is fight."

"How do you know? You haven't even tried."

"Please, it's Potter. When we're not fighting, we're hexing each other," he said. "And I'd rather we kept it that way."

"Draco!"

"Granger, Potter and I are enemies…nothing but enemies."

"Have you even tried being friends?"

"Why would I want to try and do that?" he asked.

She shook her head back and forth and glared at the desk. "You are impossible."

"Yeah, I think we determined that a long time ago."

Fuming even more, Hermione looked away.

Draco sighed. "Look, Granger," he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. "It'll just never work. Potter and I are just…we're just not of the friend sort."

"But what about all the good you could do?" she asked. "Have you ever thought about that?"

"What good could I do?" he asked before he could think.

Wrenching her hand from his, Hermione stood up. "Don't say things like that!" she screeched.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I hate when you say things like that," she said. "How can you still think so little of yourself?"

He shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. "I don't know," he said. Then, sighing, he leaned back in the chair and looked up at her. "Look, if it'll make you happy…or whatever…I'll meet with Potter."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Oh, thank you!" Bending down, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"You're welcome," he said, returning the affection.

Stepping back, Hermione brushed her hair out of her face and smiled, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I have prefect duties right now," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And with one backwards last glance, she walked out of the room.

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione asked that night.

He sat across from Ron, a game of Exploding Snap underway. At his name, he glanced up. "What?"

"Please reconsider," she said.

"No," he said, placing a card hesitantly upon the pile already quivering on the table. When it didn't explode, he glanced up at her. "We've already discussed this."

"I've talked to him, Harry," she said. "He says he'll work with you if you'll work with him."

"And why do I find that hard to believe?"

Ron frowned, looking confused. "What are we all going on about?" He glanced at Harry. "Who're you gonna work with?"

"Nobody," Harry said darkly, shuffling the few cards in his hands idly.

"Harry, please," she said. "At least give it a go."

"Hermione," he spat, glaring up at her, "I thought I'd made myself clear. I don't want anything to do with him."

"Who?" Ron asked, looking between Hermione and Harry. "Who're we talking about?"

"Nobody, Ronald," Hermione clipped, giving Harry a hard stare. "Harry, don't be a prat."

"Don't be a prat?" he shouted, standing up so quickly the cards in his hands scattered to the floor. "Why don't you stop being an insufferable busy body?"

"Harry…" Hermione's chin quivered.

Glowering darkly, he angrily swiped his arm across the table, cards flying everywhere, several going off midair. "Shove off, Hermione!" With nothing but an enraged backwards glance, Harry stomped up the stairs.

Cards settled and smoke dissipated; the acrid scent of exploded cards wafted between Hermione and Ron. Tears glistened in Hermione's eyes, the skin of her face smudged with ashes. Ron eyed her warily, the tips of his hair singed and standing on end.

"Hermione…don't…um…" he trailed off, watching the tears sliding down her face with trepidation.

Shaking her head, Hermione covered her face and ran from the common room.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione arrived to breakfast later than her usual time, half of the Great Hall already filled as she sat down. Clouds filled the enchanted ceiling, the sun nowhere to be seen, the full effects of late September having finally influenced the weather. Gloomily, she grabbed a few piece of toast and halfheartedly slathered them with butter, grabbing the _Daily Prophet_ as it dropped before her. Munching idly on her toast, she perused the headlines, nothing more exciting than an article about the new regulations concerning Gringotts.

Putting the paper down, Hermione glanced down the table. Harry and Ron sat further down the table as usual, deep within a verbal argument. Ginny, who sat beside Ron, rolled her eyes and turned, catching Hermione's eye, and smiled sympathetically. Hermione returned the gesture, knowing Harry and Ron were fighting over her. Sighing, Hermione grabbed her bag and headed for the doors to the Great Hall.

"Hermione, wait."

She stopped and turned, Harry jogging to catch up to her.

"Fine," he said, sighing with defeat. "I'll work with him."

"Really?" She smiled.

He sighed. "Yeah. Ron managed to knock some sense into me. How he managed…I don't know considering he doesn't even know what's really going on…" Harry trailed off, still rather perplexed at his best mate.

Still smiling, Hermione quickly hugged Harry. "I'm so happy," she said. "I promise you won't regret this, Harry."

"I better not," he mumbled into her hair.

Stepping back, she swatted his shoulder. "Oh, lighten up," she said. "He's not that bad."

"Right," he said, shaking his head, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyways, when's this all happening?"

"Saturday," she said.

* * *

Hermione and Harry strode through the hallways Saturday afternoon, past portraits chatting with other portraits, countless students snogging in every dark corner, and Peeves painting the wall directly outside Umbridge's office a violent shade of puke green. The corridor outside classroom number thirty-one was vacant of students, and Hermione quickly ushered Harry inside, closing the door softly behind them.

"Malfoy," Harry sneered the moment he spotted the blond Slytherin lounging in one of the desks.

Draco smirked. "Potter," he said almost mockingly, his eyes harboring a challenging glimmer.

Harry tensed, his fingers flicking to his wand, a hex already at his lips. However, Hermione intervened, placing a hand on Harry's chest. "Harry, quit it, alright?" Her eyes demanded his cooperation.

"Fine," he said, relaxing his shoulders.

"Honestly, can't we all just get along?' she said, weaving between the desks, dragging one over, and sitting down across from Draco.

Reluctantly, Harry plopped down in the chair directly beside Hermione, his eyes never leaving Draco.

Satisfied that her friends weren't going to hex each other, she retrieved a list from her book bag. "I've made a list of the things we need to cover," she said. "I think the first…"

Smirking, Draco gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. "Typical," he mumbled, glancing at the list in her hand.

"You want to say that again, Malfoy?" Harry, who'd stood up so quickly his chair toppled over, thrust the point of his wand into Draco's face, the glare on his face dark and angry.

Draco stared at Harry, his eyebrow raised in what appeared to be amusement. A laugh escaped his mouth. "What Potter? You gonna hex me?"

Harry pressed his lips together, his look hardening even further, the tip of his wand pressing further into Draco's cheek.

"Ok, let's just calm down," Hermione said. "There is no need to do anything rash."

Neither boy paid any mind to her.

"Come on, Potter, I dare you to hex me," Draco taunted, his wand appearing in his hand.

"Draco, _no_!"

"_Stupif-_"

"_Petrific-_"

"STOP!" Hermione grabbed both wands, forcing the spells to hit the far wall, bits of stone trickling to the ground. "What is the matter with the both of you? Can't you stand five minutes in a room without hexing each other?" she screeched.

Harry and Draco both put their wands away, mumbling apologies to Hermione as they averted their eyes from the raging girl, choosing instead to send each other covert looks of loathing.

Giving her friends firm looks, Hermione flicked her hair behind her shoulder and glanced at her parchment. "Ok, as I said, I've made a list of things we need to cover," she said, glancing at both boys with hesitancy. "First and foremost, is a place to hold these meetings." She looked up, expecting a reply of some sort. However, Harry was too wrapped up in glaring at Draco while Draco busied himself by returning Harry's stare with plenty of mocking humor. "Oh for crying out loud," she cried. "Will you two quit it?"

"He's the one who started it," Harry grumbled, never removing his eyes from Draco.

"Oh piss off, Potter," Draco replied, rolling his eyes and choosing a random spot in the classroom to examine.

"That the best you got, Malfoy?" Harry asked tauntingly.

"Better than what you have," Draco said.

Hardening his stare, Harry pointed his wand at Draco. "Want to bet on it? Come on, Malfoy," he said, getting out of his seat.

"_Harry_…" Hermione threatened, her eyes boring into him, pleading him to sit back down.

He ignored her. "Duel me."

Smirking, Draco slid out of his seat. "You won't last ten seconds, Potty," he sneered, readying his wand.

"Oh yeah, Ferret?" he asked. "_Stupify_."

"_Protego!_" Draco shouted, the spell veering off to the side. "_Petrificus Totalus_."

"_STOP_!" she screamed, shooting out of her seat, her hands held out frantically.

Harry dodged the beam of light and rolled his eyes in a demeaning manner. "Is that all you have, Malfoy?"

"Harry…Draco…_stop_," she said. "_Please_, this isn't worth it."

"Move out of the way, Granger," Draco demanded, his stance ready for a fight.

"No."

"Hermione, move," Harry said, his eyes on Draco.

"I will not…"

Draco reached out and grabbed her arm. "Granger…"

Growling, Harry darted forward. "Get your bloody, good for nothing hands off of her." He crashed into Draco, pinning him against the wall. Smoke drifted up from Draco, collecting among the rafters. Neither Harry nor Draco noticed.

Hermione shrieked. "No…"

Draco laughed. "You're pathetic, Potter."

"Better than what you are."

"Oh, and what would that be?" he asked.

"A Deatheater," Harry said simply.

Draco paled, his face soon flushing. "_You don't know __**anything**__Potter_." He clenched his jaw.

"I don't?" Harry asked lightly, mockingly. "You're just like your father, Malfoy, worshiping at your knees. You're nothing, Malfoy." Pausing in horror, Hermione stared at Harry, her eyes as large as saucers and her mouth open in shock. Draco stood, still pinned against the wall, his eyes a wall of cold steel. He trembled, the anger rising off of him evident in the air, in the smell drifting throughout the classroom. "And you know what?" Harry continued. "That's all you'll ever be. You don't fool anybody, Malfoy. Least of all, me."

Silence, heavy rage-ridden silence. And then everything exploded.

Beside Hermione, the desk burst into flame, fire nearly licking the ceiling.

"_I am__** NOT **__my father, and I am__** NOT **__a Deatheater_." Draco's eyes flashed, shoving Harry away from him. Stalking forward, Draco forced Harry backwards, Harry stumbling through the desks. "Do _not_ think you know me, Potter. I am _not_ what everybody thinks I am." Giving Harry one last shove, Draco turned and stalked out of the room.

The flames died away with the slamming of the door, leaving the chair smoking and charred. She could not ignore this. Everything that had been revolving in her head for the past week and a half further cemented itself into existence. Hermione glanced at the door, the silence in the room throbbing with the resonance of the slamming door.

"Go, Hermione," Harry said quietly, almost in regretful defeat. "Just go. I know you want to."

She looked at him. "Harry…"

"Hermione," he snapped. "Just go!" Looking away, Harry hugged himself and glowered at the remains of the chair, not quite knowing what to make of it. Was it he who did that? Had his magic gotten that much out of control? It had before, memories of his Aunt Marge coming to mind.

Hermione sighed, gave Harry one last glance, and quickly made her way out of the room.

* * *

She found him two floors up, staring out a window, his arms wrapped around himself. Even before she saw his face, before she said anything, she knew he had closed himself off to anything and everything, her included. Strong memories from the previous year hit her, and she felt as if she were looking at that Draco instead.

"Draco?" she said softly, coming to stand beside him. Words fought to gain precedent; however, none came forth, each stuck in hesitation.

He stared out the window, his hands gripping his own arms, an act to quell the tremors wracking his body.

She gently grabbed his arm. "That wasn't accidental magic…was it?"

His eyes closed and his breathing shuddered. "What do you want me to say?" he asked.

"I don't think you have to say anything," she said.

Draco looked up at her, fear running through his eyes, fear that startled Hermione.

"I _know_, Draco," she said, stressing her words.

Sighing, he sunk to the ground, one leg bent while the other jutted out before him. He bowed his head, hair hanging in his face. "I knew you'd find out," he said.

Hermione sat beside him and picked up his hand, trails of smoke drifting up from each finger. "You're…you're…" she trailed off, the words getting caught in her throat.

"Not human?" he supplied, wanting to, but not able to bring himself to meet her eyes.

"I was going to say an Ignius," she said, meshing her fingers with his, her thumb running over his, "but yes."

Draco swallowed hard and nodded.

Hermione's mouth hung open. It was one thing to figure it out on her own, but a completely different thing to hear it directly from him.

His heart shivered in his chest, the blood in his veins running cold. "I'm different, Granger," he whispered. "More different than you could ever imagine."

Silence fell over the two, words not being sufficient to say everything that hung in the air. The knowledge between them, the knowledge of the truth, and its existence would forever change everything. Change that in this case would be inevitable, unavoidable, and incomprehensibly difficult.


	26. Paratus

**Author's Note – **Hey, I know, it's been quite some time since I've updated, and I apologize for that. I was participating in NaNoWriMo last month (aka I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days) and was busy with that. (evidence of this can be found at: niftynovelist(dot)livejournal(dot)com) However, I'm back and Fire Dragon can continue on…though I'm not promising such stellar update habits as I had a few months ago…but there will be semi-regular updates now. Oh, and as always, let me know what you think. Reviews are my addiction.

**Another Note – **The title means "Preparations" in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – Unfortunately, I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter. However, the Ignius is my own original idea and only though asking may you borrow it.

**Enjoy and Reivew!

* * *

**

**Chapter Twenty Six**

"Paratus"

* * *

"Do it again," Hermione demanded, excitement and interest shining so brightly in her eyes, they could have glowed in the dark.

Draco grinned and bit his lip, sticking his hand out, palm up. A tiny flame erupted in the center of his hand. Head tilted to the side, Hermione watched in awe as he willed the flame to grow, expanding until it mimicked the size of a bludger. His eyes leaving the flame for a split second, he glanced at Hermione, his heart swelling with warmth, an emotion he'd rarely experienced until then. Sharing a tiny smile with only himself, he let his power wrap around the flame, his eyes getting lost in the flickering colors swirling in his palm.

"Can you feel it?" Hermione asked. "The heat, can you feel it?"

Letting his head angle to the side, he stared at the flame thoughtfully, his other hand hovering to sweep over the flame in an action that was almost a caress. "I can," he said, "but it's different…a different sort of heat."

"How so?"

"It's…it's everywhere." He glanced up at Hermione and licked his lips. "And…there's a lot of power in it."

"Power…like magic?" Hermione asked.

Draco frowned, the expression one of thought rather than displeasure. "Yes and no," he said. "My power…my fire is a part of my magic, but…" he trailed off, his mind once again sinking into the intricacies of his power.

Hermione leaned forward. "But…"

"They have their separations…" He looked up at Hermione for a moment before focusing his gaze on the candle holder on the wall, a short stub of a candle jammed into it, hardened wax hanging from it like icicles. "If I were to light that candle…" A small flame shot up from the end of the candle with one glance from Draco. "…I could accio it to me…" He reached his hand out, the flame darting across the room and landing in his palm. "…petrify it…" The flame froze partway through its flickering dance. "…and extinguish it." Draco sent Hermione a small grin as the flame disappeared. "I can control the fire like I do my magic…they're very closely joined…but not exactly the same thing."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense," she said. "You use your fire like your magic…but you can't use your magic like your fire."

He nodded. "Exactly," he said. "I can accio my fire to me without a wand…but if I were try and accio a book to me using my fire, that wouldn't work…" He grinned. "…I'd most likely destroy the book."

"It's fascinating," she said and reached out, grabbing his hand. Turning it over in her hand, she traced the lines etched into his palm.

"What is?" he asked softly.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah," she said. "You…you're supposed to be…they aren't…"

"I'm not supposed to exist," he said for her, Hermione looking up. "Yeah, it's a strange concept."

"But how?"

"How am I here?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well," he said, his tone of voice drifting into the sarcastic realms of being. "When two people love each other very much…"

Smacking him across the shoulder, she glared at him, the merest hints of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Draco Malfoy…"

Sheepishly, he smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself," he said.

"Right," she said dully.

Draco looked at her, tearing his eyes away a moment later. "Right…so, how exactly am I here," he said, looking at the ceiling. "I don't really understand it myself, but the Malfoy line originally descended from the Ignius."

"Are there more then?" she asked, her eyes momentarily lighting up at the prospect of Draco not being the only Ignius in known existence.

He shook his head. "No…at least not to my knowledge," he said. "Although, I guess, technically, my father would be one…and his father…and so on."

Hermione frowned. "So, he is one?"

"No," he said. "Genetically…yes. But it's dormant in him. He might as well be a human."

"But you…"

"It's not dormant in me," he said.

"So…"

"I'm a full blown Ignius," he said. "I've got everything from power over fire…eventual wings…and a bonded."

"A bonded?"

"After I get my wings I'll go through my Ero Lumen," he said. "I'll begin looking for my mate…someone I'll create a life-bond with."

Her heart froze, the sensation almost painful in her chest, for which Hermione did not quite understand why. She looked at Draco as he met her eyes. Something passed between them, something unsaid but as loud as if it had been shouted. Draco felt cold, the knowledge he'd known, and would eventually be inevitable, pulled at the fibers of his heart. And he knew the reality of his existence, the truth of his feelings towards Hermione, and what would most likely go down. For what were the chances that she would be his bonded?

He hadn't wanted to admit it, let alone accept it. His feelings for Hermione ran deeper than that of mere friendship. However, he had that cloud hanging over him, his eventual bonding with his mate, and that he couldn't ignore. Emotions and reality ran in completely different directions.

* * *

That Saturday was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school term. Hermione stood beside Harry and Ron, her hair whipping around her in the wind, as they made their way out of the castle and up the road towards the small, wizarding town.

"The Hog's Head for the Defense meeting, Harry," she whispered in his ear as they passed Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks.

"Why the Hog's Head? I don't see any problem with The Three Broomsticks," he said.

"The Three Broomsticks is going to be too crowded…and we meet in an hour," she said, turning to glance at Madam Puddifoot's. "Alright?"

"An hour?" Ron piped up. "I thought we were meeting now?"

"No," she said. "I told everybody twelve o'clock."

"Oh," he said, shrugging and turning, his mind and eyes set upon Honeydukes.

Harry stood his ground. "I don't see anything wrong with meeting now."

"I have something to do," she said, once again looking at the tiny tea shop just up the road from Scrivenshaft's. "But I'll be there at noon."

Harry growled. "Hermione…"

Ron turned around looking slightly surprised. "What do you have to do?"

"Nothing, Ron," she said.

"Right," he grumbled petulantly. "It's never anything."

"Ronald…" she sneered.

"You know, when you sneer like that you look remarkably like…" Harry stared to say, but was cut short as Hermione planted a hand unkindly in the center of his chest and pushed him to the side of the street.

"Harry James Potter, you shut it right now," she demanded, pushing her face up close to his.

His green eyes glowed with anger. "I don't have to do anything, Hermione," he grumbled. "He's a lying and conceited bastard."

A low growl escaped Hermione's throat. "You're lucky I'm still even speaking with you, Harry, after what you did on Saturday," she said.

"After what I did?" he asked incredulously. "I didn't do anything."

"You promised that you would act civil, Harry," she said. "You didn't even give him a chance."

"He doesn't deserve a chance."

"Yes he does, and you know it," she said. "He is a different person. If you'd just take the time to get to know him…"

"No," he said, turning on his heel and striding towards Ron, who'd been warily watching them from afar. "I don't have to get to know him to know everything he's told you was complete rubbish."

And with that, he walked away, Ron giving her a fleeting, confused glance before disappearing among the crowd outside of Honeydukes. Hermione, left muttering to herself about stubborn-headed prats, turned down the side street and towards Madam Puddifoot's.

* * *

Draco sat in one of the back rooms of Madam Puddifoot's, his fingers rapping upon the table impatiently. He was just about to utter a string of curses under his breath when the thick curtain separating the private room from everybody else sitting in the tea shop was wrenched aside and Hermione dropped into the chair across from Draco, an angry scowl upon her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Hermione hardened her eyes and stared at the wall, a lit sconce supplying the light to the tiny room. "Harry," she grumbled. "He has no sense what so ever."

Sighing, Draco leaned forward. "What'd he do this time?"

"He's just…" she trailed off, sighing sharply before glancing at Draco. "Nevermind."

He rolled his eyes. "Out with it, Granger," he said.

She eyed him for a moment before shaking her head and sipping at the butterbeer he had ordered for her prior to her arrival. "It's really no matter," she said. "Plus, the meeting starts in three-quarters of an hour. I want to at least spend some time with you."

He raised an eyebrow in annoyance. "You made me wait fifteen minutes for you. The least you could do is give me an explanation for your lateness," he said.

"Fine, if it'll make Your Royal Highness happy," she said mockingly.

Draco smirked. "Well, go on, what did Potter do now?"

"He's being this big-headed prat who refuses to see the truth of the matter. You're a different person now," she said, waving her hand in his direction as she spoke. "You aren't the same person he met five years ago. He's too caught up in what he wants to believe to really realize that. It irritates me to no end, and I'm this close to boxing his ears about it." Finished, she slumped in her seat and glared at the table.

Glancing at her, he quirked an eyebrow. "Feel better?" he asked, drinking from his glass nonchalantly.

Blinking, she ran a hand through her hair and nodded. "Yeah…thanks," she said, giving him a small smile.

Draco returned the grin. "So, where's the meeting being held?" he asked.

"The Hog's Head," she replied, sitting back in the cushy chair.

"I thought you were going to hold it at The Three Broomsticks?"

"We were, but it's always crowded on Hogsmeade weekends, and I don't want to be overheard," she said.

He nodded his approval. "Good thinking," he said. "What sort of turn out do you think there's going to be?"

"Well, we've been spreading the word for the past few days…under the table, of course…"

"…Umbridge," he said, and Hermione nodded.

"…and I believe we should get maybe fifteen or twenty people," she said, running her finger along the lip of the glass. "I think that's an adequate amount."

"Any Slytherins, you think?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Hermione winced and looked away. "No," she said. "I tried to convince Harry, but…well, you know how he is."

"Narrow-minded prat," Draco grumbled.

"You know, he's not the only one," she said.

"I am not narrow-minded."

"I'm not saying you are. At least, not so much anymore," she said. "Though, I won't say the same for the rest of your house."

"They're not all that bad," he said, at which Hermione regarded him disbelievingly. "Ok, the upper years…yes. But I think some of the younger years would be interested in this sort of thing."

"You think so?"

"For some," he said.

She sat back and pondered what he had just told her. "I'll speak to Harry about it…don't look at me like that. He'll come around…but they're going to have to be fourth years and above. We've put an age restriction on the club."

"Why?"

"Because we're probably going to be practicing advanced magic that younger students won't be able to handle," she said.

"You don't know that for sure," he said.

"It's not practical…

"Look," he said, cutting her off. "At least make an exception for this third year bloke that I know."

"Why?"

"He's highly intelligent, and I've seen him duel," he said, Hermione raising her eyebrows in a manner that urged him to go on. "This bloke is bloody amazing with a wand…." Hermione continued to stare at him, her eyebrows quirked. "Granger, just trust me on this."

Sighing, she mulled the idea over in her head. "Harry isn't going to like it."

"Who cares what Potter thinks?"

"I do."

"You shouldn't."

"He's my best friend."

"And that makes me…"

"Fine," she said, not answering his previous question still hanging in the air.

"Good," he smirked.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione finished off her butterbeer. Setting the bottle back on the table, she checked her watch. "The meeting starts in ten minutes. I should get going," she said, getting up from her chair and rummaging around in her purse. "Here, this should cover the butterbeer." Three sickles dropped onto the table.

Shaking his head, he pushed the silver coins back towards Hermione. "I have it covered, Granger," he said.

"I insist," she said, pushing the coins back towards him.

"And I told you that I have it taken care of," he said, looking up at her through his blond bangs.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Honestly, I can pay for my own drinks."

"I'm not saying that you can't," he said.

"Then let me pay for them."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you don't have to."

"But I want to."

Draco stood and took Hermione's hand. "And maybe I do," he said, dropping the three coins back into her hand before ducking out of the back room.

* * *

"I don't care, Hermione. I don't like it," Harry snapped on the walk back to Hogwarts, Ron choosing to walk far ahead with Ginny the moment they began bickering.

"I don't see the problem," she said, frowning.

"They're Slytherins, Hermione," he said.

"And you needed to give them a chance."

Two Slytherins had shown up to the meeting; a short and stocky third-year boy with neatly-trimmed, black hair by the name of Stephano Grismuth, and a skinny fourth-year girl with honey-blond hair and soft, pale features named Kristen Wright. Needless to say, neither had received a warm welcome, no matter that both of their families were neutral.

"I don't need to give them a chance, Hermione," Harry said. "I don't need to give anybody a chance."

"That is very selfish of you," Hermione scolded.

He turned to her in anger. "They are Slytherins. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Why must we make house distinctions, Harry? Isn't that what the sorting hat had warned us about at the start of the year?"

"I don't give a flying hippogriff's arse about the sorting hat," he said, kicking at a stone on the pathway.

"I thought this was a club to help the entire school," she said. "Since when has that changed?"

"It hasn't changed," he grumbled. "We are helping the school."

"Then why, in the name of Merlin, are we excluding the Slytherins? Stephano and Kristen had an honest interest in this," she said. "They _wanted _to join; they _wanted_ to make a difference."

Harry scoffed and glared at the ground. "I don't care," he said. "All Slytherins are the same."

"You are being unfair about this."

"I am not being unfair, Hermione," he said. "You know as well as I what would happen if they joined."

Hermione stopped in her tracks and pulled him to the side of the road and away from prying ears and eyes. "Oh really? Then tell me…Harry…what would happen?" she asked.

He laughed. "You honestly don't know? After even being friends with one?"

Hermione became very quiet, her jaw pulsing as she clenched her teeth together. "So this is about Draco, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

"Isn't it always?" he shouted, waving his arms around. "It is always about him."

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at Harry, a deathly silence blooming around her. "You're jealous," she said slowly. "You're jealous of my friendship with Draco."

Harry glowered at her, his brow drawing inward as his eyes darkened. "No," he said. "I'm not jealous…I'm disgusted that you even talk to that ferret."

Everything froze, the echoing of a slap sounding loudly in the silence. Students stopped and stared at Harry as he stood, stunned, and Hermione as she stormed away. Ron craned his neck and looked between his two friends, his eyes wide and his brow raised in a quizzical expression. Ginny, who'd been walking beside him, sent Harry a withering look before turning and following Hermione.

Hermione pushed past everybody, set on returning to the castle. The faint calls coming from Ginny she ignored as she ran, tears catching in her eyelashes as they fell. Going up the front steps of Hogwarts, she pushed through a group of students and tripped on her way through the door, landing at their feet. Laughter fell upon her.

"Oh, look, the Mudblood is crying," Pansy Parkinson simpered. "Did Potty break up with her?"

Somebody else snorted. "He probably got tired of wallowing in all that mud."

"He could do so much better," another person said. "Right Draco?"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

"Draco?"

Tears dribbled down her chin, plopping onto the flagstones.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice quiet and his eyes dull. "So much better."

He watched as she ran across the Entrance Hall, Ginny Weasley pushing past him a moment later. Dullness flooded his eyes, his Slytherin friends no longer seeming enjoyable company. His eyes flicked back and forth between Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore still doubled over in laughter, cruel laughter. What was the point of the existence of a friendship with them? Pansy straightened up, her black eyes watering with mirth.

"Did you see her run?" she giggled. "That Mudblood's worth a laugh or two, I guess."

Draco stared at her.

She cocked her head to the side. "Draco? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Draco," Blaise said. "You're usually falling over something like this."

When had everything changed? When had his mask disappeared?

"Aren't you going to say something?"

He couldn't pretend anymore.

"What has gotten into you?" Pansy grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, tugging on it.

Jerking his arm away, he turned. "I'll be in the library," he offered as an explanation as he walked away.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ginny tentatively opened the door to the classroom at the end of the hall she had seen Hermione run down.

Quiet crying could be heard from within, the shades on the windows drawn, the room filled with gloomy shadows.

"Just go away, Ginny."

"What happened?" She entered the room, closing the door softly behind herself.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Ginny moved a few paces into the room, her eyes quickly adjusting to the lack of light. "What's wrong?"

Hermione looked at the ground. "Nothing," she said. "I just want to be alone."

Finally reaching her friend among the haphazard scattering of desks in the room, Ginny hopped up onto the desk beside Hermione. "What did Harry do?" she asked knowingly.

She ground her teeth together angrily. "He just…he never…" Hermione sighed. "It's nothing."

"It isn't nothing, Hermione, if it's got you this upset," Ginny said.

Hermione grew silent as she stared at the wall. "It's too complicated," she said truthfully. And too complicated it was for Draco revolved in the center of the issue.

"Why?" Ginny insisted.

"You wouldn't understand."

Ginny, annoyed, scoffed. "Don't you go deciding what I would or wouldn't understand…I get enough of that from Ron," she said.

"Ginny, I just…"

The door squeaked open as Hermione began to speak, her words pausing mid-sentence, and her eyes growing panicked as Draco entered.


	27. Fides Itaque Paratus

**Author's Note – **Welcome back to Fire Dragon! A few things before you proceed onward. First, Fire Dragon has officially reached 100,000 words! Hooray! Second, I'd really like to hear some feedback about where you, the readers, want to see Fire Dragon go. I have a set outline and a plan, but I'm curious about what all of you think. I know when I read a fanfiction, I have these little ideas of where I want certain parts of the plot to go. Sometimes they go where I want them to go, and sometimes they don't. I'm curious about where you think Fire Dragon should go.

**Another Note – **The title loosely means "Trust and Preparations" in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter. If I did, I'd have my car paid off, and I wouldn't be living with my parents.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

"Fides Itaque Paratus"

* * *

"Granger?" Draco entered the room. "I know you're in…" He paused, horrified, as he realized that Hermione wasn't alone.

"Get out of here, Malfoy." Immediately, Ginny was on her feet, her wand drawn, and her face set to stony determination.

Draco stared at Ginny, frozen in shock. Ginny steeled her gaze, her wand aimed at his face. Long-fueled animosity crackled between them like sparks in a fire. However, it was the fresh bout of crying coming from Hermione that drew their attentions away from each other.

"Hermione…"

"Granger…"

And an exchange of identical looks of hate passed between them.

Hermione slid off of the desk she had been perched upon and, much to Ginny's surprise, approached Draco and buried her face in his chest.

"He just doesn't get it," she sobbed.

Draco sent Ginny a wary look as he wrapped his arms around Hermione.

"I try to make him understand," she said. "He needs to understand."

Ginny watched, too shocked and confused to say or do anything.

"You aren't the same person anymore."

He ran his hand through her hair.

"He's my best friend."

Ginny frowned.

"He…he looked at me like…like…"

"Shh," Draco whispered, lowering his head, his eyes still watching the red-haired girl.

"He hates me…my best friend hates me…"

"He doesn't hate you."

Draco continued to stare at Ginny.

"He does…he…he hates me…"

"No…you know that's not true…"

Hermione mumbled into his shirt, her fingers clenching the fabric at his back, as Draco shushed her.

"So this is what that was all about," Ginny said, crossing her arms.

Draco froze as Hermione stiffened in his arms. "Oh no…" Hermione moaned, untangling herself from Draco's arms. "Oh no…oh no…" She turned and stared at Ginny in fearing horror.

"I don't quite understand," she said almost harshly. "Someone care to explain?"

Hermione shifted on her feet and hesitantly glanced at Ginny.

"Anybody now?"

"What's there to explain?" Draco drawled. "I think things are pretty self-explanatory."

"Oh really?" Ginny countered.

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically and turned her gaze to Hermione. "Hermione?"

Hermione closed her eyes and dropped her chin. "We…we've been friends since the start of last year…" She took a breath.

"You and Malfoy?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Harry found out during the summer…"

"Well, that makes sense," Ginny mused. Hermione glanced up, Ginny meeting her eyes. "No…go on."

"He refuses to believe that Draco's a different person…"

"Different how?" Ginny asked, sliding a critiquing glance to the boy still standing off to the side, obviously uncomfortable as his fingers fidgeted at his sides.

"He's…" Hermione drew her gaze upon Draco. "…not how you all remember him. He's sweet…kind…funny…"

"Jeez, Granger, you're making me out to be a pansy," Draco cut in, rolling his eyes as his arms crossed over his chest.

"It's all true," she replied, "and you know it!"

Draco remained as he was, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

Hermione sighed and looked at Ginny. "He's one of my best mates, Ginny," she said.

"And this is what has Harry's knickers in a twist?" she asked, still studying the blond.

She nodded. "He hates that I'm friends with him," she said. "And he refuses to see that people _can_ change."

Ginny sent an appraising eye over Draco. "And you think he's changed?"

"_Yes_," she stressed. "Do you honestly think I would spend my time with him if he hadn't?"

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Ginny propped one of her hands on her hip. "No…" she said, trailing off. "It's just…a lot to take in."

Silence followed.

"Weasley," Draco began moments later, "I don't mean any harm. Granger...as much as I hate to admit…she's helped me more than I think even she knows."

More silence, awkwardness following in subtle drifts as Hermione rubbed her hands against the sides of her pants. Draco stared at the ceiling, and Ginny continued to stare at Draco.

"How do I know you're not going to betray us? You could be spying for Slytherin," Ginny accused, demanding an answer from Draco with her eyes.

"Why is my house always an issue with you lot?" Draco suddenly blurted out, the tinges of real frustration and annoyance pulling at his face.

Ginny frowned and deepened her expression, crossing her arms and resting all her weight on one foot. "Because it has been in the past," she said. "Now, can we trust you?"

"You can trust me," he said.

She held his gaze. "And how do we know you're not going to run to daddy with information on Harry," she demanded, her eyes, if possible, becoming harder and brighter.

Draco's expression and general demeanor quickly slid from barely tolerated annoyance to cold fury as his features darkened. "I am not my father, Weasley," he said, each word forced and clipped.

The air in the room pulsed once and then twice with power. Hermione bit her lip, watching out of the corner of her eye as one of the torches flickered.

Ginny clenched her jaw and took several minutes to study the boy before her. She could feel the emotions coming from his being, the power behind it startlingly strong. Something else twisted among the threads of power, something Ginny was unfamiliar with. Furrowing her eyebrows, she let it go for the moment in lieu of finishing their conversation.

"I am aware of that, Malfoy," she said, the heat and loathing that had once gone into uttering his last name faint if not completely gone. "I had to make sure."

"He may have given me my surname, but that is _all_ he has given me," he said.

Another round of silence passed between the three, Ginny studying Draco with hardened eyes as he returned her look with equal amounts of strength and stubbornness. Hermione sat between the two, silent as she glanced from one to the other. Her stomach swam and tied itself into knots.

"Alright then," Ginny said. "I believe Hermione…" Draco's eyebrows rose as Hermione's eyes lit up. "…but not because I trust you," she said to Draco, "…but because I trust her."

"Fair enough," Draco said, glancing at Hermione, who nodded.

With a quick nod of her head, Ginny turned and glanced at the door. "Well, I'll leave you two to…uh…what ever it is that you two do," she said. "As for me…" Her wand appeared, twirling between her fingers. A slight smirk grew on her lips. "…I believe a certain black-haired prat has an appointment with my Bat-Bogey Hex."

* * *

Days later, Harry came through, agreeing once again to meet with Hermione and Draco.

"First, we need a place to hold this," Hermione said, a parchment and quill at the ready.

"Somewhere big," Draco added, reaching out his hand. "May I see the list?"

Hermione nodded, handing over the list of people created the Saturday before in Hogsmeade. Harry sat back, his eyes flicking back and forth between Hermione and Draco. He couldn't believe it; he didn't want to believe it. Hermione and Draco, best mates? The idea had seemed absurd at first, and from which grew to be infuriating. Hermione was his best mate, not Draco's.

"Harry?"

And now Ginny knew too.

"Harry?"

Worst of all, she seemed alright with the whole idea. In fact, his head still rang with the hex she cast upon him the other day.

"_Harry_?"

He felt scorned.

"Potter!"

There was no denying it now.

"Potter, get your lousy head out of the clouds!"

Harry jerked upright. "What?" he asked.

"We need a place to hold our meetings, Harry," Hermione said. "The Great Hall, while large enough, is too open."

"Too easy for Umbridge to find out," Draco supplied.

"And a classroom, while secure enough if taken the correct precautions…" she began.

"Would be far too small," Draco finished.

Silent, he sat and stared, his eyes moving from Hermione to Draco and back again. His finger tapped his bottom lip as his eyes narrowed in thought. "I know a place," he said finally.

* * *

"Potter, I don't see anything," Draco stated ten minutes later as he and Hermione stood on the seventh floor, Harry pacing back and forth, his brow creased in deep thought. "And that moldy old tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy doesn't count."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry growled, turning on his heel for the third time and walking back towards the two.

"Don't you tell me to shut it."

"Draco, that's enou…" Hermione began to say, but stopped when a large wooden door appeared in the middle of the wall directly before her.

Draco blinked rapidly and stared openly at the door. "Bloody hell," he whispered.

Harry glanced back at them, his hand on the doorknob. "The house-elves call it the Come and Go Room, and others call it the Room of Requirement."

"What's it do?" Draco asked, Hermione standing back, her finger on her chin as she studied the door.

Eyeing him for a brief moment, Harry opened the door, waving his arm, beckoning them in. "Dobby…a house-elf…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know who Dobby is," Draco snapped, pushing himself into the room.

"Right," Harry said, letting Hermione in before closing the door. "Dobby showed it to me the other day."

Hermione glanced around the room, immediately drawn to the wall of books, her hand already outstretched to retrieve one. Draco, more skeptical by nature, scrutinized the volumes of defense books, warily side-stepping the cushions scattered about the floor.

"It's just a room, Potter," he said.

"Not just a room, Malfoy," Harry said, repressing the urge to add in a scathing remark as he rolled his eyes.

"Looks like just a room to me," Draco retorted.

Suddenly, the floor wavered, once stone flags turning into thick, soft burgundy carpet as the bookcases multiplied and the cushions transfigured themselves into tables and chairs. Hermione, who'd been paging quietly through a book on silent hexes, gasped and jumped back as the books in front of her seemed to split into two, stacking one on top of the other as the shelves grew in height.

"It changes itself according to the creator's needs," Harry explained.

Hermione stood, her eyes wide and wondrous. "This is amazing," she said.

"And Umbridge'll never find us here?" Draco asked, for once looking wary in front of Harry.

Harry gave him a brief glance, Draco's look quickly turning to stony silence. "No," he said.

Draco nodded, looking up at the intricately designed ceiling. Shifting his feet, Harry checked his watch. "I have quidditch practice in fifteen minutes," he said. "Remember the first meeting is tomorrow night."

"I won't forget," Hermione said absentmindedly as she continued to peruse the books along the wall.

Nodding, Harry turned and headed for the door. It wasn't three meters he'd walked before Draco's voice halted him in his footsteps.

"I want to attend the meeting," he said, an almost demand.

Harry tensed, his shoulders becoming rigid. "No."

"Draco, you know that's not practical," Hermione said nearly at the same time Harry spoke.

Huffing, Draco shook his head. "I've put just as much into this group as you have," he said.

"Are you completely daft?" Harry shouted, spinning around.

"Draco…"

"You are not attending the meeting," Harry demanded angrily.

"And why not?"

"Draco," Hermione began, "you can't be seen with us."

"Your invisibility cloak," Draco said, turning his gaze to Harry. "What about that?"

"My what…h-how do you know about that?" Harry said, faltering on his words.

"Oh come on, Potter," Draco said. "Who doesn't know about the cloak?"

Harry's eyes darkened. "My answer's no."

"Come on, Potter."

"No!"

"I deserve to attend!"

"_No!_"

"Harry," Hermione began tentatively, fidgeting her fingers together. "He has a point."

"We've discussed this," Harry said.

"If he were to use your invisibility cloak, he'd be able to attend without anybody really knowing," she said.

"It's a bad idea, Hermione."

"Harry…"

"Ok fine! Let him use the bloody cloak…I obviously have no say in this," he bit out.

"Harry, you know that's not…" Hermione began to say, but the rest of her sentence went unheard as the door slammed as Harry stomped out. Sighing, she glanced at Draco, shrugged, and went back to looking at the vast selection of books lining the walls.

* * *

And as he demanded, Draco certainly attended the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army, as they so decided to call it. Hidden within the silvery folds of Harry's invisibility cloak, Draco sat, the knowledge of his presence shared between just three people. As he sat, his knees propped up with his elbows resting upon them, a small spark of a flame appeared in his hand. Slowly, he rolled his wrist, the flame hopping from finger to finger as they flexed, something he'd taken to doing when his mind wandered.

Hermione stood a mere ten meters away, speaking to Luna Lovegood as members of the DA congregated in the center of the room, many of them looking around in awe. Sighing through his nose, the flame bouncing from finger to finger growing slightly larger, he watched her, tendrils of emotion burrowing in his gut. For a moment, he let them manifest themselves, growing within himself. Then, with a quick snarl, the flame extinguishing itself in a small puff of smoke, he shoved the feelings away. The chances of her being his bonded were about as likely as Umbridge growing a heart.

Meters away, Hermione's mind also strayed from the here and now as she spoke to Luna, the eccentric blond girl smiling vaguely as a finger twisted a strand of hair. Her heart pattered nervously, knowing Draco to be in the room.

"I'm quite excited," Luna said, her pale eyes roaming the room, "to learn Defense from Harry."

Hermione nodded. "We've had a good turn out," she said, staring at the corner where she knew Draco to be.

"He's here, isn't he?" Luna then said, smiling dreamily up at Hermione.

Jerking her eyes back to the Ravenclaw, Hermione startled in surprise. "Come again?"

"Draco…he's here," she said again, pointing to the far corner, "sitting right there."

Glancing where Luna pointed, Hermione's insides seemed to freeze. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, hoping her voice sounded level and even. "There's nobody there."

"Of course there is…under an invisibility cloak, of course," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "We all know how the hairs of a demiguise get in the weeks prior to Samhain."

Eyes as wide as the full moon, Hermione stared at Luna. How Luna had found out not only of their friendship but that Draco was present and hidden via an invisibility cloak, Hermione couldn't even begin to fathom. The logic of the entire current situation just didn't add up. They were careful, always taking caution to remain undiscovered. Did others know of their secret friendship? Hermione shook her head, the idea being ridiculous. If anybody else knew, besides those who already knew, it would be all over Hogwarts quicker than an outbreak of Dragon Pox. Plus, Luna had so far proven to be loyal to both Hermione and Draco, not saying a word to anybody about their friendship.

Luna, seemingly unaware of Hermione's paralyzing shock and wayward stream of thoughts, continued to talk. "They're tricky things to work with. My Auntie May used to make socks out of demiguise hair," Luna prattled on. "They used to disappear on her. See, I'm wearing a pair right now." Hitching up the hem of her robes, Luna stuck out one foot. The bony protrusion of her ankle bone appeared as she turned her foot delicately to the side.

Peering down at Luna's foot, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "There isn't anything there."

Luna smiled faintly. "Of course you can't see them," she said. "But they're there."

"Oh, right," Hermione said, unsure of the situation.

The room had nearly filled, two dozen students milling around. Standing at the front of the expansive room, Harry pointed his wand at his throat, amplifying his voice.

"All right, if I can have everyone's attention," he called out.

Immediately, everybody stopped talking, heads turning towards Harry. Draco looked up as well, watching as Harry instructed everybody to divide themselves into pairs, his wand swishing and flicking as he demonstrated how to cast an Expelliarmus spell. It was once everybody was paired off, everybody except Neville, that the great door to the Room of Requirement opened. Everybody froze, their bodies tense as visions of Umbridge lurked through their minds. However, when two younger year Slytherins entered, the panic faded and quickly turned into raging disgust.

Draco sneered and shook his head as it was Ron who first spoke.

"Oi! Who invited them?" he asked, jutting his thumb towards them in a rude manner.

"We've as much right to be here as you do," the boy said, his eyes steeling the confidence his body expressed. The girl, who'd been standing nearly behind the boy, squared her shoulders and raised her chin, nodding in the process.

A general low murmur of displeasure passed through the room, hands tightening on wands as eyes glared at the two Slytherins still standing near the door.

"The hell you don't!" somebody cried from amidst the group.

"You're not wanted," a Ravenclaw girl called out.

"Go back to your dungeon," another person snarled.

And at the forefront of all the anger, Ron stood, a growl on his lips and hate-filled loathing in his eyes. Draco, his wand in hand, watched, nearly shedding the invisibility cloak as fiery rage shot through him. They had every right to be there, and Draco nearly shouted as so from his position on the floor. Yet, he needn't have to act as such for a moment later, Harry stepped forward, one hand on Ron's chest.

"Back down, Mate," he said, eyeing the Slytherins with equal parts of trepidation and grudging wariness. "They have my permission to be here."

A general surge of disbelief ran through the crowd, the intensity of it rising as the implications of Harry's words sunk in.

"Listen up!" a voice rang out and all noise ceased to exist. Draco looked up as Hermione began to speak, her wand pointed as her throat as her voice amplified itself magically. "This isn't about house rivalry anymore. It's about survival in a world on the brink of another war. We can't survive if we're fighting amongst ourselves, can we?" Indecision wove itself through the group. "If we're going to pull through whatever is coming our way, then we must band together. This includes Slytherins," she said with determination in her voice. "If anybody feels any different, then you may leave." Pointing to the door, she passed her eyes over each and every person in the room, some fidgeting while others looked away, creeping embarrassment crawling up their necks.

Draco allowed himself a small grin, the growing tendril he'd previously shoved to the back of his mind making itself known once again. The feeling grew, bubbling within him until, as before, Draco pushed it away. There was no use in feelings as such.

Hermione's heart raced as she stood amid the other DA members, feeling as their eyes bored holes through her. She nearly expected half of everybody present to walk out the door, or at least Ron, so angered she almost expected smoke to come out of his ears. However, after a moment of uncomfortable silence and shifting feet, a resound group decision to remain passed between everybody. And thus, the DA continued onward, Slytherins included.


	28. Ordinatio Scaena

**Author's Note – **Has it really only been a week? To me it seems longer. Maybe it's the fact that I'm five chapters ahead at the moment. No seriously, I had the worst case of writer's block (since December really). Thinking about things, I realized my problem was that, while I knew where I wanted to go, I didn't know how to get there. So, I spent a day reworking my Year Five plot, and BAM! Five chapters in five days. And I know what you all are thinking…five chapters…she's gonna be updating like crazy. Sorry to disappoint, but I need that five chapter buffer for the end of fifth year when I start planning sixth and seventh year. And yes, sixth and seventh year, due to certain AU plot necessities, need to be planned together, and it will take time.

**Another Note – **The chapter title means "Setting the Stage" in Latin. Oh, and next chapter, you learn something _**very**_ important about Luna. But you have to read this one first.

**And, Yet, Another Note** – I know, I'm a little note heavy with this update. However, this one's for all of you. There's a note (yes, another) at the end of this chapter regarding something I've been toying with. I want your input, all of your input. Yes, even you.

**Disclaimer – **Nope, it's not mine. Please insert a sad face right here. It all belongs to JK Rowling. She's a lucky lady.

**Without Further Ado…Read, Review, and Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

"Ordinatio Scaena"

* * *

A month passed, life passing by according to habit, the only thing out of the ordinary being the regular gathering of students on Wednesday evenings in the Room of Requirement, acts of rebellion in their midst. The first weekend of November held to the first quidditch match of the school year, Slytherin and Gryffindor facing off mid-air, each fighting to prove themselves. However, the game ended as most confrontations between Slytherins and Gryffindors do, in a magnificent fight.

* * *

She strode through the halls, her footsteps clipped and her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. Fury trailed her, leaving a scorching path in her wake, a path students took care to avoid. Crashing through the doors to the hospital wing, startling the two bedridden occupants, she came to an abrupt halt at the first bed.

Boxing the occupant firmly around the ears, she growled. "Are you completely insane?"

"Blimey, Hermione, what was that for?" Harry cringed, a hand clutching the side of his head.

"What were you thinking?"

Harry had the audacity to appear sheepish. "I wasn't?"

Bristling, Hermione glowered.

"What?" Harry said. "It was his fault." He pointed to the bed behind her.

"My fault?" another voice spoke up. "Are you bloody thick in the head Potter?"

Hermione whirled around. "Don't you even start, Draco Malfoy!" she demanded.

He crossed his arms like a petulant child, a pouting smirk upon his mouth matching his demeanor. "Well, he could have left my mother out of it."

"Oh, like you have room to talk, Ferret."

"Shut it, Potty."

"Come over here and I will."

"Is that a challenge?"

"_Stop_." Shoving Draco back into bed with one hand, Hermione turned her cold glare onto Harry. "Just stop it, both of you. You're acting like children."

"Hermione!" Harry sat up. "You heard what he said about my mum."

"And I heard what you said about his," she said. "And that is no excuse!"

"Hah! She's got you there Potter," Draco crooned.

Whirling around, Hermione stuck her finger sharply into his chest, Draco wincing. "And you!" she screeched. "What is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me, Granger," he said, looking away.

"You are unbelievable."

"Yeah, well _he_…" He thrust an angry finger at Harry in accusation. "…got me a lifetime ban from quidditch."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unamused.

"Oh suck it up, Malfoy," Harry sneered. "Same thing happened to me…all thanks to you."

Draco sent Harry a cold look before returning his attention to Hermione. "A _lifetime_ ban, Granger," he said as if the merest hint of the idea were preposterous. "She can't do that!"

Pausing, Hermione held her cold glare on Draco before speaking. "Well, I dare say I…" but she didn't get to finish as the doors to the Hospital Wing were abruptly thrown open.

Professor Umbridge strode in, the Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch teams following in her wake.

"Ah, Miss Granger, what a surprise to see you here," she said, a wide grin on her thin lips as she appeared to look surprised.

Sending Draco and Harry one last lingering glare, Hermione turned towards the hoard of people spilling through the door. "Yes," she said to the professor, strained politeness in her voice. "And I was just leaving. Good day, Professor."

* * *

Two days later, Draco found himself tagging along behind Hermione as she stormed through the stacks of books housed in Hogwart's library.

"Oh, come on Granger, this is utterly ridiculous."

Not responding, choosing instead to turn her nose up at him, she reached up and pulled a book from the shelf.

"You are honestly not going to talk to me?" he asked, crossing his arm and glaring at her as she idly flipped through the pages of the book in her hand.

Flippantly closing the book, Hermione returned it to its rightful place and turned her back on Draco, stalking off. Sighing, Draco followed her, an action he would have scoffed at a year ago. However, the girl meant so much to him, a great deal he still refused to admit, and he'd be damned if he allowed her to remain so angry with him.

"I said I was sorry," he said. "What more do you want?"

At that, Hermione paused, her head tilted to the side. Draco also ceased to move, his grey eyes trained upon the girl.

After a moment, Hermione slowly turned around. "I want you to stop acting like a prat every time you and Harry come within five feet of each other."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I thought it'd be clear by now that Potter and I just aren't going to be best mates," he said, a slight air of sarcasm tingeing the ends of his words.

Hermione growled and took a step forward, Draco raising his eyebrows in surprise. "And that is exactly…" She jabbed her finger into his chest, the action marking her point. "…what the problem is here."

Sighing, feeling a lecture coming on and not being in the mood, Draco glowered. "And what, pray-tell, would that problem be?" he asked, a mixture of mocking sarcasm winding itself through his words.

Eyes widening in disbelief, Hermione growled and grabbed the nearest book. The merest chance that it would be a thick volume on the uses of common garden weeds didn't even occur to her as she bared her teeth and chucked it at him.

"Hey!" Draco ducked, barely missing the book as it skimmed over his head and landed with a muffled thump on the library floor. "Watch it, will you?"

Spinning on her heel, Hermione stomped off. Draco sighed and ran to catch up with her as she headed down another aisle. Glancing up, he noted they stood in the herbology section before grabbing her arm, stopping her.

"Just stop and listen to me," he said.

She spun around on him, eyes expressing the anger and frustration swirling in her mind. "Let me go."

"No, just listen."

"I said let go of me!"

"Listen and I will," he said stubbornly.

"Draco Malfoy, let go of me this instant!" she demanded, a few wayward strands of hair falling from the messy bun piled on top of her head.

"Hermione, will you just listen?" he asked, his voice becoming heavy. "Just listen, alright?"

Grinding her teeth together, Hermione continued to glare. "And why should I grant you that privilege?"

Draco paused, weighing and calculating his options, before responding with a smirk on his face. "Because you love me and my charming wit," he said.

Sighing, Hermione frowned, tapping her foot restlessly.

"Oh, come on," Draco said. "You can't be cross with me forever."

"Wanna bet on it?" she retorted.

"Not particularly," he responded, eyeing her warily.

Silently, Draco followed her to the end of the aisle, turned as she turned, and trailed behind her down the next. Once they reached the end of that aisle, her fingers dancing over the spines of each book, Hermione finally stopped and looked full on at Draco.

"I'm cross with you not because you and Harry aren't getting along," she began. "I didn't expect you to…I know you're rivals."

Draco nodded, staring at her.

"I'm cross because you're taking this all so lightly…like it's all just a joke," she said, "like it doesn't matter to you."

"Of course it matters to me," he said quietly.

"There's a war coming, Draco," she said. "The Ministry has infiltrated Hogwarts…the Dark Lord is rising again and everybody's in denial…things are slowly coming apart."

"I know that, Granger," he said. "You know I know that."

"Then why do I get this feeling that all of this…" She waved her arms around the library, gesturing to the entirety of the school. "…is just a game?"

"It's not a game," he said.

"We're not children anymore," she said. "This is happening…this is happening _now_. Why are we still caught up in stupid house rivalries?"

For several long moments, Draco didn't say anything. When he did speak, his voice was quiet, yet strong, voicing what certainly had been on his mind long before their argument. "I don't know, Granger. Things have always been this way…I guess none of us had really seen or realized just how far it had gone."

Hermione sighed. "It doesn't have to be this way," she said.

Shrugging, not out of indifference but out of a lack of a response, Draco gave her a wan smile and glanced through the stacks of books. "It's curfew in fifteen minutes," he said. And with that, they made their way out of the library, making sure to leave a few minutes between each of their departures to alleviate any rousing suspicion.

* * *

Draco moved slowly but purposefully through the halls after his meeting with Hermione in the library. With each footstep, her words revolved through his brain. She was right; they were no longer children, and a war was indeed at their doorstep, no matter how much the Ministry tried to cover it up. Things needed to change, and they needed to change now.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, out past curfew?"

Umbridge suddenly came into his line of vision, her pink cashmere cardigan glowing brightly in the gloomy dimness of the dungeons. Grinding his teeth together, Draco forced himself to keep an indifferent and polite face.

"It isn't curfew yet, Professor," he said as evenly as he could. "I still have five minutes."

"Oh, but you must be mistaken, dear," she said, stepping forward, her thin, frog-like lips turning upwards. "Curfew was ten minutes ago."

Face stony, Draco took a step back, his heart racing, but his mind whirring as it worked itself around her words and out.

"Now, if you'll be so kind as to inform me where you have been tonight," she began, the expression on her face formed into one of polite concern that promised consideration, "perhaps we could work this out."

However, Draco recognized the perverse pleasure shining in her eyes, pleasure at catching him in the wrong. "I was studying in the library," he said, keeping his face indifferent.

"The library?" she said faintly, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes."

"Why, I've just come from there myself," she said before tilting her head to the side and smiling, "and I did not see you there."

Draco resisted the urge to shift to his other foot, knowing the action would portray to her the nervous energy currently coursing through his body. At the same time, he drew in a deep breath, suppressing the quelling swirl of power resonating from the pit of his stomach, heat radiating henceforth and down his arms. Control proved difficult, but manageable.

"Would you care to supply me with an explanation then, Mr. Malfoy?" Umbridge insisted.

"I was studying in the back," he said. "It's quiet."

Making an undistinguishable noise in the back of her throat, Umbridge raised her nose. "I do not tolerate lies, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "If you merely inform me of your whereabouts then we can be on our merry ways."

He ground his teeth together. "Perhaps you just didn't see me," he said, struggling to keep the rein on his fire.

"And perhaps you are being dishonest with me, Mr. Malfoy. I would hate to have to owl your father. I'm sure he would be most displeased to hear what I would have to say in regards to you."

"I was in the library, Professor," he said, ignoring the disturbing sensation of his heart clenching in panicky fear."

"The Ministry doesn't appreciate dishonesty, Mr. Malfoy, for it often leads to deviousness," she said, mock sweetness melting through her words like thick syrup, "and neither do I. Detention, tomorrow after dinner." Turning on her heel, she walked away, her pink heels clicking against the stone floor.

Closing his eyes, he ran a hand through his hair, thin streams of smoke intertwining themselves in the silky strands. Pulling his hand away, he reined in his fire, the strands of pale gray disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Making sure his usual mask was in place, Draco strode down the hall towards the Slytherin common room.

* * *

Wings fanned out, feathers ruffling in the wake of flying, Zander dove down between the rafters of the Great Hall, others doing the same as breakfast got underway. Sharp eyesight spotted the brown-haired Gryffindor sitting beside a red-haired girl, the morning's Daily Prophet already open beside her and a goblet of pumpkin juice in hand. Sweeping down to the table, he landed gracefully beside her, his beak taking a quick dip into her goblet before outstretching his leg, a neatly tied note attached.

"Oh, love notes this early in the morning?" Ginny asked slyly, her brown eyes glowing.

"Ginny," Hermione hissed, snapping her head around to glare at the younger girl. "Shut it, will you?" Turning back around as Ginny rolled her eyes, Hermione opened the note.

_Meet me tonight in our classroom at 8. _

_-DM_

_P.S. I have detention with Umbridge tonight._

"You two have a classroom?"

Hermione sent Ginny another glare.

"What?" Ginny asked, feigning innocence. "I think it's cute."

Sighing and shaking her head, Hermione quickly packed up her things and stood from the table. Casting her eyes out across the Great Hall, she gave Draco a small nod before leaving. Ginny, watching the exchange of looks, glanced at Draco with a raised eyebrow, to which he frowned and turned away from the red-headed Weasley. Shaking her head and smiling to herself, being a romantic at heart, she gathered up her own belongings and followed Hermione.

Up at the head table, a pair of beady eyes paired with a hot pink cloak and hair band watched the exchange with interest, too much interest, before returning to breakfast.

* * *

"Hermione!"

Ginny ran down the corridor, her robe, currently unfastened and free, flying behind her.

"Hermione, wait!"

Sighing softly, Hermione stopped walking and turned around, giving the girl time to catch up to her.

"What?" Hermione said.

"I didn't mean anything by what I said," she started off with, Hermione raising an eyebrow. "Ok, ok, so maybe I did."

Hermione continued to stare at Ginny, her left eyebrow arched delicately over her left eye.

"I just think you're cute together," Ginny said.

"There's nothing going on between us, Gin."

"Bollocks, Hermione," Ginny retorted. "I can practically sense the attraction between you…from across the Great Hall!"

"This is ridiculous. He's my friend," she said, starting to walk down the hallway, Ginny following. "Nothing else."

"You obviously want more."

Mouth hanging open in shock, Hermione widened her eyes. "I do not!"

"Oh come on, what girl hasn't imagined Draco Malfoy in only his knickers?"

Eyes widening even further, Hermione opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, lost for words and completely appalled. Beside her, Ginny grinned as two bright spots blushed high up on Hermione's cheeks. Scoffing, Hermione turned and began walking away. Shrugging, Ginny followed.

"So, what'd he say in the note."

Bristling, Hermione steeled her gaze forward. "Nothing," she said.

"It was not nothing, Hermione."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione slowed as they reached the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall already present. "I'll talk to you later, Gin," she said as the red-headed girl stepped into the room.

Ginny grinned brightly at Hermione. "We'll talk later," she said, her tone promising what Hermione dreaded most at the moment.

"Right, well I have to head to Charms." Turning, Hermione set to leave but bumped into somebody instead.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," Luna said, gazing dreamily at the ceiling.

"Hi, Luna."

Bringing her gaze back down, Luna smiled faintly at Hermione. "The Draypurs aren't in your favor today, Hermione," she said before entering the classroom.

Shaking her head, she gave Ginny one last wave before trekking down the hall towards the Charms classroom.

* * *

The sun had long since settled beneath the horizon, the darkness of night descending upon the rolling lawns stretched across Hogwarts. Torches on high, flickering light dancing through the shadows, Hermione quietly made her way to the fourth floor. The classroom was dark when she entered. Not expecting Draco to be there yet, she waved her wand, lighting the room, and settled down at the old teacher's desk at the front of the classroom. Spreading her Charms homework out on the desk, she opened her book and began taking notes.

Time ticked away slowly, a foot of notes appearing on her scroll before the door opened.

She looked up and smiled as Draco entered. "Hey."

Draco closed the door, his hand lingering on the door handle as he took several deep breaths. He shut his eyes. Hermione frowned at his strange behavior, and it was the moment that the torches along the walls began to flicker unnaturally that she knew something was seriously wrong.

"Draco?" She stood up.

Draco held up one hand, the hand of the other clenched into a tight fist at his side. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. Glancing to the shelves to his right, he quickly snatched up a distorted and disproportionate glass figurine. A quick tremor traveled down his arm before he screamed and smashed the figurine against the stone floor. Then one after the other, objects flew from the shelf, meeting the floor in an explosion of glass shards. All the while, Draco shouted and cursed, the words coming out of his mouth sounding jumbled in quarreling emotions of obvious anger and distress.

And from the teacher's desk at the front of the room, Hermione watched all of this, her mouth parted in shock and her eyes widening as Draco became more and more agitated. Across the room, the frame of a scenic landscape burst into flame, and Hermione decided enough was enough. Standing, she quickly moved to stand beside him.

"Draco, stop!" She placed her hand on his arm just as he went to smash something else against the floor.

The moment her hand met the skin of his arm, Draco froze, his wide and almost frantic eyes looking down at her.

"Stop," she whispered as she reached forward and gingerly took the goblet from his hand and placed it on the desk beside her. "Just stop."

Draco shook where he stood.

Hermione reached for his other arm, noticing his skin to be blazing hot, almost to the point of being uncomfortable to touch. "Please, just stop."

Hearing her words, Draco calmed down, his breaths going from erratic and panicked to deep and controlled. He then began to tremble, his sliver eyes piercing into Hermione's. And then he whispered the two words she would soon wish would have never been said.

"She knows."

* * *

**That Other Note –** Would any of you be interested in me creating a Yahoo Group or a forum for Fire Dragon? I've seen this done before with other fanfictions (such as the Dangerverse series by Whydoyouneedtoknow) and from what I've seen, it's been immensely successful.

The first thing I want you to tell me is would this interest you? I don't want to go make a Group or a forum and have nobody join. That would be no fun.

Second, what would you rather have: a Yahoo Group or a forum. While a Yahoo Group has oodles of features, I have created and admined forums before and I'm very familiar with them. Of course, the decision is mine, but I like my readers' input.

Third, what sorts of things would you be interested in seeing/doing/learning/etc. I have a few ideas, such chances to pick my brain (something I'm sure several of you would love to do), have polls, discuss Fire Dragon, post fanart if anybody's done any, etc. Ideas are more than welcome…encouraged…in fact, they're almost required. Hehe.


	29. Per Insurgo, Praedictum, Itaque Macto

**Author's Note – **Well, here's the next chapter. And, oh my, look at all that foreshadowing. I had a lot of trouble with the ending of this chapter and its ability to sound realistic and plausible. Let me know what you think about the end of the chapter.

**Another Note – **The title means "Of Rebels, Prophesies, and Fights," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I own nothing.

**Read, Review, and Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

"Per Insurgo, Praedictum, Itaque Macto"

* * *

"She knows? What…what do you mean?" Hermione asked, confused. "Who knows?"

"Umbridge," Draco said, finally regaining control of himself.

"Oh Merlin." Hermione sank into the desk that sat behind her, Draco doing the same.

"I…I think she knows…about us," he said, turning to look her directly in the eye.

"Wait." Hermione paused for a beat. "You _think_ she knows?"

Sighing, Draco stared at the desk he sat in. "She said that I had to uphold the honor of my family…that I had to remember where I came from, and where I'm going."

"So, she didn't outright say that she knew we were friends."

"No," he said, "but she damn well hinted at it, and made sure I knew."

He brought his right hand up to rest gingerly upon the desk. The fingers of his right hand curled slightly and Hermione glanced at them, her eyes widening.

"What did she do to you?!" Reaching out, she gently grabbed his hand, studying the bright red words engraved into the skin that read, _I am a Malfoy_, a permanent reminder of who he was, and where he came from.

"Blood quill," he said. "She had me write lines."

Growling, Hermione leaned down and rummaged around in her bag. Draco, hearing glass vials clinking around in the depths of her bag, eyed it curiously. Hermione handed him two stoppered vials of a watery, gray potion.

"What's this?" he asked, studying the potions inside by tipping the vials to and fro, the potion slipping fluidly from one end of the vial to the other.

"It's a healing potion," she said, taking one of the vials from him, pulling the cork out and pouring half the contents onto the back of his hand. "She's done the same thing to Harry on numerous occasions. I've taken to carrying these around with me."

Draco frowned. "So I'm not the only one?"

Shaking her head, she gently rubbed the potion into his skin, the swelling and redness surrounding the carved words diminishing. Finishing, she corked the vial and handed it to Draco.

"Do you suppose she's done this to other students?" he asked, slipping the vials into the pocket of his pants.

"Besides you and Harry?" Hermione mused.

Draco nodded.

"I'd hate to even think of her doing this to just one student," she said, "but it's definitely possible."

Tilting his head to the side, Draco glanced up at Hermione through the hair that swept across his forehead. "What do you suppose parents would say," he said, "to hear this is how Umbridge is disciplining their children?"

"They wouldn't be happy, that's for sure," she said, then paused, eyeing Draco suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

"What if, hypothetically, we found other students who she had done this to," he began, "and they all wrote letters home?"

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione considered his plan. "Parents would most definitely not be pleased with how she is conducting these sorts of matters. They would likely voice their opinion." A small, gradual smile appeared on her face. "You suppose the school board will condone her practices?"

"I doubt it," he said. "It's the Ministry that would be of the most concern."

She nodded. "Considering she's backed by the Ministry."

"How involved is the Ministry in the school board?" he asked.

Sighing, Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure," she said. "I know for sure the Ministry has some influence in the school board…"

"…but the question is how much," he finished for her.

Glancing up at him, she gave him a small smile and nodded. "In a matter such as this, since it deals with Umbridge, I would say the Ministry would have more."

"So we're essentially screwed," he said.

Hermione gave him a dry look. "Don't say that," she said. "However, I think we can be assured that she will be most unpleased," she said.

Draco nodded. "Then we have to be prepared."

Hermione nodded.

"And we have to take into account what the sorting hat said at the start of the year," he said, hesitantly looking up at her.

Startled by his words, she looked up at him. "What are you saying?"

"House unity," he said.

She nodded, urging him to go on.

"We can't face this as we are…divided." Licking his lips, he continued onward. "We are facing a force that is quite possibly larger than we may think. If we're going to against her like this, we're going to want the whole school behind us."

Slowly, Hermione furrowed her brow. "What exactly are you trying to say?" she said.

"It would defeat the purpose if everybody was still squabbling amongst themselves," he said. "We have to show them that unity is possible."

"Draco," she began, knowing all too well where this was headed. "You need to think this through."

"I have," he said. "How can we stand as one when we're divided right down the middle? It's not possible."

"But have you even thought about what this might bring? What about your father?" she said.

"I don't care about my father," he said, scowling at the desk. "I'm so bloody tired of him."

"I know," she said. "I'm tired of him too."

Draco raised an eyebrow sardonically. "You don't have to deal with him," he said. "How are you tired of him?"

"I'm tired of having to see what his actions are doing to you," she said softly, causing Draco to look up, his gray eyes soft and full of the longing common to one familiar with deprivation.

Although he hid it well, Hermione could always see the lingering sadness and despair beneath the indifferent exterior he'd become accustomed to wearing. She couldn't even begin to imagine what a life void of a parent's love could be like. However, seeing the results in her best friend proved to her that it would be a difficult life.

"I will say, though," she said after a moment. "Your idea isn't a bad one."

"Are you just saying that for my benefit or do you truly mean that?" he said.

"I truly mean it," she said. "But I think it needs to be thought out more."

He nodded. "I realize that," he said.

"We need a way to make it plausible. First off, it would be counter productive to inform the entire school of our friendship."

"That would create more trouble than it would be worth," he said.

"Exactly, plus we would be too caught up in dealing with what that would bring instead of dealing with Umbridge."

"So we need a way to control the means in which people find out," he said.

"Yes, and specifically who," she said.

"But who could we tell and expect to be accepting," he said. "Look how Potter reacted."

"True," she said slowly. "But then again, look at Ginny. She took it remarkably well, better than I thought she would."

"You have a point," he mused quietly.

"And then there's Luna," she continued.

"Luna?"

"Well, she's known of our friendship since the start of the year, possibly longer," she said, "and she hasn't told a single soul."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Kristen and Stephano I believe suspect something," he said next.

"They do?" Hermione responded.

He nodded again. "Stephano is incredibly intuitive," he said. "Plus, the mere fact that I invited them to the DA implies that I'm more involved in the other houses than commonly believed."

"Point taken," she said, and then paused, one of her hands frozen mid air as it traveled to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes widened. "Why didn't I think of that in the first place?"

"What?"

"The DA!"

"What about it?"

"The DA, first off, is most definitely against Umbridge. Second, it's a small group of people from all houses. Third, I, personally, would consider all of them trustworthy," she said rapidly, ticking each point off on her fingers. "And lastly, we're already a secret club, what's one more secret?"

Draco sat up slightly, tilting his head to the side as the idea formed in his head. "The DA," he mused back at her.

"It's perfect," she said, her eyes shining back at him.

* * *

"I hate the idea," Harry brooded the next day.

"Harry," Ginny said, swiping him across the back of the head, "stop being a prat."

"I'm not being a prat," he countered back at her. "The idea is stupid."

Hermione rolled her eyes as did Draco. The four of them had met directly after dinner in Draco and Hermione's classroom. As quickly as Ginny had found out, she had wiggled herself into their tight group, proving to be much more of an asset than previously thought.

"You _are_ being a prat," she said. "I'll bet you the only reason you hate the idea is because Draco offered it."

Harry frowned and went to reply, but paused seeing Ginny's expression. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. "Fine," he said, turning his gaze to Draco, "go on."

Giving a short burst of a laugh and shaking his head, Draco indeed did as Harry requested, detailing the reasoning behind their decision and the logistics and rationality in using the DA.

"Letters are a definite place to start," Ginny said after Draco was finished speaking. "I know of a few people who she had done that to."

"As do I," Draco said.

Ginny nodded, unconsciously holding her right hand in the palm of her left. "That needs to be stopped."

Hermione, catching the slight movement of her hands frowned. "Ginny," she began, looking at her friend's hands. "Show me your hand."

Looking up, startled, Ginny frowned. "Why?" she said, her voice suddenly sounding guarded.

"Just do it."

"No."

"Ginny?" Harry turned to her.

Sighing, she placed her hand on top of the desk, faint, but clearly intelligible words etched across the pale skin.

Harry took her hand and read the words. "I will remember my place?" he read, glancing up at Ginny for further explanation.

"I was angry when she first did this to you," she said. "The next class I had with her, I clearly told her what I thought of her practices. And then she told me, in her own warped and twisted way, what she thought of me and my beliefs."

"Ginny," Hermione groaned.

"What?" she said, looking at Hermione. "What did you expect me to do?"

"Perhaps nothing?" Draco answered. "Lay low?"

Scowling, Ginny turned to Draco. "I couldn't just remain silent," she said. "Something had to be done."

"So, you took the idiot Gryffindor way out?" Draco drawled, the barest tinges of anger tilting his voice.

"Excuse me?" Anger reddening her face, Ginny stood, her chair sliding backwards.

Hermione sighed. "Ginny, sit down," she said firmly. Irritated, the red-headed girl glared between Draco and Hermione. "There's nothing we can do about it now," she said, her glances between the two clearly telling them to calm down. "We have to focus on what we _can_ do."

"She's right," Draco said to Ginny, Ginny nodding and sitting back down as Harry reluctantly following in suit. "We have to plan."

"Exactly," Hermione said.

And plan they did, all night until the clock on the wall signaled curfew, to which they returned to their respective dorms, the faintest hints of organized rebellion setting the stage for something bigger that they would soon face.

* * *

The next day Draco received an owl. Already knowing who it was from and what it was regarding, he carelessly ripped it open and scanned the contents, several key lines standing out on the parchment.

_…have been informed of your detention and the extenuating circumstances that resulted in the detention…_

_…your behavior has become increasingly erratic…_

_…is no way for a Malfoy to act…_

_…you are a disgrace…an abomination…loathe to call you my son…_

_…will discuss this over the holiday…_

_…the Dark Lord is watching…_

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath as he crumpled the parchment, the letter disintegrating into ash. Letting the remnants of the letter scatter to the floor, he reached for another piece of toast and continued on with breakfast.

* * *

Friday signaled the end of the week, students celebrating and chattering excitedly about what the weekend would bring. The fourth and fifth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, having classes in the same area of the castle, spilled into the hallways.

"I think it would be most practical if we all met in the library after dinner," Hermione said, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.

"Hermione!" Ron whined. "Classes have just ended for the week."

"Exactly," she said, skirting around a group of Ravenclaws. "It's all still fresh in your mind…"

Suddenly, in the middle of the hallway filled with students, someone shrieked as a strange voice, not quite foreign but not quite familiar, began to speak.

"_The great divide comes henceforth between the loyal and the strong_." Luna Lovegood stood rigidly still, her eyes blank and expressionless as her lips formed the words heard echoing throughout the room. "_One shall stray, another shall weep, and others will stir_." She spoke as if in a trance. "_If words prove to be true, a hidden betrayal, masked in mistaken intensions, may mend what forever could have been lost_." Then, as if marked by the end of her words, her eyes shut and her body went limp.

Neville Longbottom had been standing beside Luna when her body went stiff and rigid. He heard Lavender Brown scream as Luna began to speak. And Neville had to admit to himself, he was indeed startled and slightly taken aback by her words. When she stopped speaking, and her body went limp, Neville found himself rushing forward, catching the blond-haired girl before she hit the ground.

Hermione stared at Luna, currently in Neville's arms, her mouth open slightly as she slowly processed what exactly had just happened. She knew for a fact what had just happened was about as rare as the Russian Green-Backed Dragon, a breed that had not been seen for decades. Knowing this, she quickly found a spare bit of parchment and a quill and scribbled down her words.

Ginny watched worriedly as Neville gently lowered Luna down to the ground. Her friend appeared pale, and Ginny pushed through the students surrounding Luna and Neville, kneeling down beside the girl as she woke.

Hermione pushed through the gathering students, each of them peering curiously down at the quirky, blond-haired girl.

"Alright you lot," she began. "Let's give her a little room."

Everybody in question took a few hesitant steps back as the quiet rumble of whispers sailed through the group, each person speculating what had just happened with the person next to them.

"What happened?" Luna said faintly, her eyes large and round as she peered around at everybody circling her.

"You told a prophesy," Hermione said, the quiet whispers traveling through the corridor increasing in volume.

Luna blinked owlishly at Hermione. "I did?"

Hermione nodded.

"You…you became all funny," Neville said. "And you spoke in a strange voice."

Luna peered up. "Oh, hello Neville," she said.

Neville became red around his ears.

"Do you remember what I said?" she asked of him.

Hermione thrust her hand forward, her spare bit of parchment in hand, as Neville shook his head. "I wrote it down."

Taking the parchment she read it, her pale eyebrows arching upwards. "I appears that I did tell a prophesy," she said. "How interesting."

* * *

The second week of November, as snow swirled gently outside, Dumbledore's Army once again congregated in the Room of Requirement. Hermione and Harry stood at the forefront of the expansive room, Draco slightly behind them, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak. Slowly, the room filled with the two dozen or so students they saw each week. Chatter swept through the milling students, excited babble about the meeting heard from one group of students to the next. Hermione watched the gathering students, a foreboding swirl of anxiety building in her gut. The prophesy Luna told earlier that week rotated in her head.

_The great divide comes henceforth…_

She leaned over to speak into Harry's ear. "I feel as if something is off," she said quietly.

"What do you mean?" he hissed back.

"Something's going to go wrong. You remember Luna's prophesy…"

"You don't know that," he said, turning to face the DA.

"I feel it," she responded, the DA members quieting down.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about that now," he said as he directed his attention to the awaiting DA.

Harry took a deep breath, glancing between Hermione, Luna, Ron, and where Draco stood. "I think we can all agree that things at Hogwarts have gone downhill," he began. "Things are beginning to get out of control."

Words of encouragement sounded from the group.

"The Ministry takes us for children, but we need to show them that we can speak for ourselves, that we are sound of mind, and that we are not helpless children." Pausing, he glanced at Hermione, nodding for her to pick up where he left off.

Stepping forward, she addressed the DA. "You'll remember the start of the year, at the sorting, the message the sorting hat had for us all."

The DA spoke amongst themselves, some remembering while others forgot.

"We can't stand up for ourselves and fight when we're divided to start with," she said. "Now, before we continue, there is something I must ask each and every one of you to do." Rummaging around in her bag, she frowned.

"I have it, Hermione," Harry said, handing her a blank piece of parchment.

Smiling, she thanked him and nodded for him to continue.

"What we have to tell you today must never leave the walls of this room," he said.

"It has been a secret for a long time, and lives may be at stake if this were to ever enter the halls of Hogwarts," Hermione said next.

An excited and wary layer of whispers coated the DA.

"So, we must ask you to sign this parchment, binding you to your promise," Harry finished.

"If you don't feel comfortable doing so, you may leave with no further consequences than you never returning," she said.

Indecision and confusion ran through the group.

Up at the front, Harry set the parchment down on a spare table that had materialized in the corner of the room. He watched the DA expectantly, and was pleased when the first person to voice his agreement was Ron.

"I'm with you, mate," he said, slapping Harry on the back as he grabbed the quill and signed his name.

Slowly, more and more members of the DA added their signatures to the parchment until thirty signatures were scribbled across the parchment, binding all thirty members to their promise. Smiling, Hermione tapped the parchment with her wand, the parchment glowing red for a moment and a faint wind rushing through the room, sending tingles down everybody's spines.

"I want to thank you for your trust," she said, rolling up the parchment and slipping it into her bag. "That means a lot to all of us."

Harry stepped forward next. "You've heard Hermione and I speak of house unity on several occasions, and I'm sure you know how important it is."

"We _can_ get along with other houses, Slytherin specifically." Her eyes fell upon Stephano and Kristin. "I don't think there is one DA member standing here who hasn't received help from Stephano or spoken and laughed with Kristin."

General murmurs of "no" passed through the room.

"They are respected and trusted members of the DA," Harry continued. "And we need to show you that others can be just as trustworthy and deserve just as much respect." He glanced at Hermione, nodding his head.

"I would like to introduce another member of the DA tonight," she said, her stomach swirling with murderous butterflies, "and I ask of you to first hear him out. He has his reasons for acting as he does."

Glancing behind her, she nodded to vacant space. At first, nothing happened, but then the figure of Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared beside Hermione, an invisibility cloak falling to the ground around his feet. A general round of gasps and wide, shocked eyes traveled about the room.

Leaning in towards Hermione, he raised an eyebrow at her. "You didn't tell me I had to give a speech, Granger," he said wryly as he turned his attention to the stunned DA. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "Who else did you expect?"

Hermione groaned. "Draco."

"Fine, fine," he said with a sigh and opened his mouth to begin speaking. However, an enraged shout stopped his words before they even left his mouth.

"What the _**bloody hell**_ is going on?" Ron Weasley shouted, stepping forward, his face an angry shade of maroon, and his wand gripped so tightly in his right hand that the whites of his knuckles showed.

Glancing between the angered red-head and the pale blond at the front of the room, confusion and the beginnings of anger descended upon the group. They too wanted to know why Draco Malfoy, of all people, was standing before them looking as if he belonged.

"Weasel, if you'd just shut it and listen," Draco drawled, "then you'd understand."

"Don't you call me that," Ron demanded. "Don't you dare call me that you ferret!"

"Ron, please, just stop," Hermione pleaded, stepping forward.

Pausing, Ron looked at her, shocked and confused. "And why should I? Why should I trust him?"

"We've been friends for years, Ron," Hermione said, wincing inwardly at the reaction she knew she would get from Ron. "I give you my word that you can trust him."

"You…you've been…WHAT?" Ron bellowed.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione took a deep breath. "Since fourth year," she said.

"I don't bloody well believe this."

"It's true, mate," Harry said.

Enraged eyes shifted to Harry. "And you've known about this?"

Solemnly, Harry nodded. "I should have…we should have told you," he said.

"You…you…" His hands shook as his face turned a deep shade of red.

Ginny grabbed onto the sleeve of Ron's robe. "Just quit making a scene and shut it already," she demanded quietly, pulling him backwards. "They have their reasons."

Wrenching his sleeve out of her grasp, he glowered at her. "How can you be calm about this? This is _Malfoy_. Does that mean _nothing_ to you?"

Calmly Ginny met his eyes. "I see the reasoning behind all of this, Ron," she said. "Just trust Hermione. You know she has good judgement."

He shook his head. "No…NO!" Breaking free from his sister's clutches, he pushed his way through stunned and shocked DA members. "I will not take this. He is a Malfoy!" Grabbing Draco by the collar of his shirt, he shoved him against the wall, forcing the tip of his wand into the soft, fleshy skin of his temple. Draco suppressed the wince that tugged at the surface of his mind. "His father is a deatheater; he can not be trusted!"

"My father may be a deatheater, Weasel," Draco said calmly. "But I am not my father."

Ron snorted. "Right lot of good that'll do you. Everybody knows you're going to follow in daddy's footsteps, like a good little deatheater's son."

Draco clenched his jaw, struggling to dredge up all the self control he could find. "I may be my father's son, but I am _not_ my father. I am not a deatheater, nor do I want to be one. Get that into your thick head, Weasel."

"Oh, not gonna be a deatheater?" Ron laughed. "That's a right load of shite if I've ever heard any."

"You want proof?"

"Proof of what?"

"That I'm not a deatheater," he said, his eyes hard and as cold as stone. Reaching down to his right arm, he wrenched up his sleeve, holding it up to show Ron and everybody else standing in the Room of Requirement. "See for yourself, Weasel."

Ron's eyes slid to Draco's arm. "There's a million spells you could have used to cover it up," he said.

"Oh, right, of course," Draco sneered. "Like the Dark Lord wouldn't take precautions against that. If I had the Dark Mark, I couldn't hide it even if I wanted to!"

"This is fucking unbelievable," Ron said, letting Draco go, with a good-sized shove. His eyes fell upon Harry and Hermione standing off to the side, Harry appearing apologetic and wary while Hermione stood with tears welling up in her eyes. His eyes fell upon her, and like an angered bull, he stalked over to her, shoving his face into hers. "I thought you were my friend, Hermione."

"I am your friend, Ron," she said, her insides swirling with anxiety and despair at having to have another similar conversation she had with Harry now with Ron.

"You are not my friend," he said from between clenched teeth. "You are nothing but a traitor."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "You don't mean that."

"Oh, I don't?" he said.

"If you'll just listen…"

"I've listened enough," he said. "I'm out of here. You can forget our friendship; I sure don't want to be friends with the likes of _you_."

"Ron," Harry called out as Ron passed by him, his arm reaching out to grab him. "Stop being a bloody prat."

Skirting Harry's grasp, Ron sneered at Harry. "I was a fool to see a friend in you, Harry."

Harry hid the pain that comment caused. "That friend is still there, Ron."

"Where?"

"Right here," Harry said.

"What about him?" He gestured violently in Draco's direction.

"What about him?"

"How can you be Malfoy's friend?" he bit out.

"He's a different person, Ron," Hermione said, stepping forward.

"No…" Ron shook his head, anger swirling dangerously in his eyes. He fisted his hands and held them tightly at his sides.

"People _can_ change."

"No, not people like him. I want nothing more to do with this," he spat, spinning on his heel and heading for the door.

The finality of his statement caused an electric jolt of panic to jut through Hermione. "RON! Ron, no…" She leapt forward and gripped onto his arm. "Don't go!"

Whipping around, Ron expressed his fury through his eyes. "Shove off, Hermione," he said.

"Please, don't go," she said.

"Get your dirty hands off me," he demanded, grimacing at her hands gripping onto the fabric of his sleeve before giving her a shove.

Hermione stumbled backwards, nearly loosing her balance. "Ron…" she breathed, eyes wide in disbelief as she clutched the arm he had pushed.

"Weasel!" Draco shouted over all the commotion in the room as he strode forward threateningly, a film of hate raged anger clouding his eyes. "You keep your hands off of her!"

Immediately, Ron drew his wand, thrusting it at Draco. "_Stupify_."

Draco ducked, throwing up a quick shield. The shouted spell sailed over Draco's shield, instead hitting Hermione. Watching as she crumpled to the ground, Draco saw red, literally saw red as his rein on his fire struggled to break and he lunged forward.

However, Harry caught him. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he said.

Struggling against his grip, Draco seethed and growled at Ron as the red haired boy smirked and returned the fury.

"You all are a bunch of traitors," Ron said to the room at large. Then, sending Draco a dirty look filled with venomous hate, he left the room, the door slamming loudly in his wake.

* * *

**Additional Note – **I have decided to set up a forum for Fire Dragon. It can be found at: www(dot)firedragon(dot)forumakers(dot)com. There's a link to it in my profile if you're having difficulty connecting. 


	30. Amicus Defluo

**Author's Note – **I know, I know. It's been a LONG, LONG time since I've updated. So, what's my excuse then? I mixture of writer's block, characters doing things that they weren't supposed to, my lack of addressing important topics, laziness, and a hectic schedule. However, this chapter's a nice 26 pages long and over 6,000 words. Happy Spring!

**Another Note – **The title means, "A Friend Lost," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own anything to do with the Harry Potter universe.

**Read, Enjoy, and Review!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

"Amicus Defluo"

* * *

Much had been accomplished during that DA meeting, even after Ron left. Although the tension, suspicion, and anxiety ran through the room like a second vein of emotions, it was Harry and Hermione's words that kept everyone in the room, kept them from doing as Ron did. Harry was their leader, plain and simple. And if Harry stood as their leader, Hermione was his faithful second-in-command. As for Draco, his role in everything was still evolving, still molding into what it would truly be and mean for everybody. As Hermione spoke, Harry interjecting every few moments, she watched the rest of the DA, trying to weigh their reactions. Most, she forced herself to admit, were wary, if not distrustful, of Draco's presence. However, the strength behind Harry and Hermione's faith in him helped to keep the strongest waves of anger at bay.

More people than expected had faced the blood quill at Professor Umbridge's insistence, a half dozen or so raising their hands when asked, and even more when asked if they knew someone who had met such a punishment. As it seemed, Umbridge took pleasure in the outright and sadistic pain of others, something that thoroughly disgusted Hermione. Although she hated to think that the blood quill had been used on so many people, on so many children, a part of her knew that the more people writing letters home would mean a stronger voice in the end.

The DA meeting had ended on a bittersweet note, many leaving the moment Harry dismissed them, needing time to digest everything that had happened that night. Some stayed for a few moments, listening to questions asked of Harry, Hermione, or Draco. However, a sparse few actually approached Draco and shook his hand, one being Luna in particular.

She had smiled vaguely up at him, her eyes clouded and hazy, as they usually were. "I'm honored to know one of the ancient," she had said faintly. "On a more personable level now," she finished.

He had frowned, raising an eyebrow the slightest bit. "Thanks," he said, trying to decide if what she said meant something, or if it was just her usual, inane babbling.

Sending him a dreamy look, she then turned and flounced out of the room, skipping and twirling her hair as she hummed.

It had been almost curfew by the time the Room of Requirement was empty, the clock on the wall showing only seven minutes before Umbridge would begin her nightly rounds of the halls, hunting for students breaking curfew. So, as would seem appropriate, they took caution and hurried back to their dorms, managing to evade their most hated professor by just a minute and a half.

And now, two hours later, just at the cusp of midnight, Hermione remained awake as the occupants of Gryffindor Tower slept in their beds. Curled up beneath her covers, the curtains pulled shut against the moonlight, she stared off into the darkness. Events of the previous night ran through her head. Luna's prophesy and what that would mean for the present and the future. Draco's reveal to the DA and what that would bring. Their next mission, the dozens of letters that would be sent out tomorrow morning to parents and guardians alike. But most of all, she thought of Ron, thought of the pure rage he had shown that night. In the five years she had known him, she had never seen him so angry, not even when he and Harry rowed the year previous during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

That, paired with Luna's prophesy, made Hermione very uneasy.

* * *

It was the fourth week of November when things between Harry and Ron began to become increasingly serious, their threats and insults escalating to shoves and eventually outright blows. On one particular night after dinner, they decided to have a go at each other, screams emanated from them as Ron remarked on Harry's self-centered nature while Harry took the opportunity to express what he truly thought of Ron's behavior in the form of further physical violence.

Hermione, who had been curled up in front of the fire studying her Charm's textbook, had no sooner tried to intervene before she was in the thick of everything, simultaneously trying to drag Harry away from Ron while at the same time spouting harsh words at Ron. By the time Fred and George heard the commotion down in the common room and went to investigate, as did the entirety of Gryffindor House, Harry had a bloody nose and a black eye while Ron's lip was split down the middle, blood running down his chin.

"_WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS_!"

The small crowd that had congregated midway through the fight, froze, several disappearing up the staircases as Professor McGonagall barged into the common room, Professor Umbridge following closely behind.

"I'm gonna kill him!" Harry struggled against Fred's arms.

"Not if I get to you first," Ron cut him off. Sneering and growling, he threw his elbows against George as his older brother struggled to contain him. Further insults brewed and bubbled in his throat, pushing to come out. However, the magically binding agreement he signed prevented him from even hinting in the slightest bit of what he wanted to say.

"_That is __**enough**_!" Professor McGonagall shouted. "_I will not-"_

"I believe I can handle this Minerva." Professor Umbridge rested one hand upon her arm.

Shaking the hand off, the head of Gryffindor House shook her head primly and regarded the still seething and warring students. "They are my students, Dolores; I will handle this," she said.

"As High Inquisitor, I believe it is within my jurisdiction to take cases such as this," she said, smiling condescendingly down at Harry and Ron, "cases of such utterly despicable behavior into my own hands."

"That is not necessary."

"Oh, but it is," Umbridge said. "And I believe you have several files to go over…the ones I believe I placed on your desk the other day, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall regarded the other professor dryly. "Of course, Dolores, I wouldn't dare put those off and make you wait for them," she said, and if Hermione didn't hear correctly, she swore she detected a hint of sarcasm. "But I do require a full report of their intended punishment on my desk by tomorrow morning," she said. "As Deputy Headmistress, it is within my duty to record all punishments."

"Oh, but of course," Umbridge quipped.

Making an undistinguishable sound in the back of her throat, Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and left the common room, several rude and uncouth remarks upon Professor Umbridge, the majority of which she would never dare to share in public, revolving through her head.

This confrontation, however, would only be the beginning of the gradual downward spiral of their friendship.

* * *

"And don't forget," Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Your essays on the theory of levitation and flotation are due next week on Tuesday." As a collective whole, the class stood and began packing their things, the tiny teacher continuing to speak over the growing chatter and shuffling. "At least two and a half feet, children. I don't want anything beneath those specifications.

Leaning over her desk, Hermione scribbled down the assignment's instructions. Finished, she tucked her notes into her bag.

"Hermione?"

Turning, she smiled at Harry, Neville standing idly beside him. "Hey, Harry, Neville," she said, nodding a greeting to the quiet boy.

"Neville and I are going to study for that Potions test in the library after dinner," he said. "Will you help us?"

"You? Study?" Reaching forward, Hermione poked him experimentally in the shoulder. "Are you really Harry Potter?"

"Hermione!" he cried. "You know I'm completely capable of studying on my own…without your insistence."

She smiled. "I know," she said.

"I could really use the help, though," Neville spoke up. "Please? Gran'll have my head if I get another T in Potions."

Sighing, Hermione readjusted her bag. "I would…"

"But…" Harry said, already knowing what she was about to say.

"I already have plans to study with…someone else…"

"Oh," Harry said dejectedly.

"Well, why don't you bring him along?" Neville suddenly suggested.

Harry frowned, Neville fidgeting, as Hermione considered the idea.

"I mean, I'm sure he also has to study, being in the same class and all," Neville added.

"I suppose that would be alright," she said.

Hermione looked to Harry, who sighed and nodded. "Alright," he said.

"Great," Hermione said, reaching for her daily planner. "How about sev-"

Jerking forward, her bag and its contents spilled to the floor as Ron shoved past them as the room cleared out, a hissed insult falling from his lips following in his wake.

"Well, that was rude," Hermione exclaimed, glaring at Ron, who walked briskly out of the room.

"He's a bloody prat," Harry cursed, helping Hermione gather her fallen things.

Shaking her head, Hermione growled. "He needs a swift kick to the arse," she said, picking up her bag as she stood up.

Neville, who had been watching the door where Ron exited through, turned. "He's really serious, isn't he?" he said. "This isn't like that row you two had last year, is it?" He looked to Harry.

"I'm afraid not," Harry said, faint traces of loss echoing in his expression.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head of the recent confrontation and turned her attention back to Harry and Neville.

"Does meeting at seven in the library work for the both of you?" she asked, and when they both nodded, she added, "Good, we'll meet at that table back near the Herbology section."

* * *

"Ok, who can explain the significance of milkweed in a Regeneration Potion?" Hermione asked that night as the four of them sat around the small table where she had met with Draco on so many prior occasions. "Harry?"

"Huh?" He glanced up in a dazed manner before hastily flipping through his Potions test. "Right, right, milkweed."

"Great Merlin, Potter," Draco exclaimed after several silent moments of page turning and muttering from the black-haired boy. "Snape went over this just yesterday morning."

Growling, Harry glared at Draco. "Shut it, Malfoy. Not everybody can be the bloody teacher's pet."

"Oh, that's rich, Potter," Draco drawled. "Especially coming from the Gryffindor Golden Boy, himself."

"Oh will you just shut it already? You have no idea what you're talking about," Harry sneered.

Smirking, Draco leaned back in his chair. "Or do I?" he taunted.

"Draco, will you just quit it already?" Hermione demanded. "Stop being such a bloody prat."

"I'm not being a bloody pr-"

"Stabilization."

Everybody paused and turned to Neville.

"Stabilization," he repeated timidly. "The milkweed stabilizes the potion…at least I think it does." He glanced back to his text and ran his finger down the page.

"Yeah…yeah, that's right," Hermione said, staring at the boy.

"Wow," Draco drawled. "Never though you had it in you, Longbottom." He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, though the gesture was more in teasing humor than cruel banter.

"Yeah, well…" Neville trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

"I thought it was well done, Neville," Harry said, patting him on the back.

"Alright, let's move on," Hermione said, shuffling through her notes.

"Ugh, I think if I spend one more minute thinking about Potions, I'm going to hurl," Harry moaned, his head hitting the table with a dull thunk.

"Honestly, Harry, it hasn't even been an hour."

"But my brain feels like pudding," he groaned.

Miffed, Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Can't we all just take a break?" he pleaded.

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

"Granger, really," Draco cut in, "we need a break."

"Yeah, Hermione," Neville said next. "A few minutes won't hurt."

"But," she began to say. However, Draco reached out with his foot and nudged her ankle. Sighing as she glanced at his insistently raised eyebrows, she shook her head in defeat. "Fine," she said, the three boys cheering softly. "But…" They froze at her tone. "…you only have ten minutes." Standing up as the three began idly chatting, Hermione informed them that she'd be in the next section over.

Meandering through the Potions Reference Section, she let her eyes skim over the texts as her fingers trailed along their bindings. And it was just as she pulled a thick book from the highest shelf that a snide voice cut through the well-appreciated silence.

"Replaced me already, I see?"

Spinning around, Hermione barely registered the soft thump of the book hitting the ground as she glared at Ron standing angrily before her.

"What on Earth are you going on about, Ronald?" she asked, stooping to pick up the book.

She watched as his eyes slid to where one could just barely make out Draco's head of blond hair.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes as she began to walk away, deciding mentally that she wasn't going to argue with him.

"Don't walk away from me!"

A none-too-gentle hand around her wrist, and her decision was made unwillingly for her.

Hermione paused and took a deep breath. "Let me go," she said between clenched teeth.

"No."

"Ron!"

"I can't believe you are talking to that scum bag, Hermione."

"He's not a scum bag."

"He's a Malfoy."

"How many times do I have to tell you? He's not his father!"

"And there's a difference?"

"Yes!"

"Malfoy's got you bloody fooled."

Hermione growled. "Let go of me," she said, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp.

"So, what?" he said, refusing her demand. "He's got you Confunded? An Impulsion Draught?"

"No."

"I wouldn't put the Imperious past him," he mused idly. "Seems like something he would do."

Grinding her teeth together, Hermione blew a puff of enraged air out of her mouth, ruffling the loose hair framing her face.

"No, Ronald! He hasn't done anything to me."

A cold silence followed.

"Oh," he said, "so you chose to follow him."

"He's my friend. No one follows anyone."

"Could have fooled me," he said.

"God dammit, Ronald!" she spat out, stomping her foot. "Stop being such a bloody, pigheaded prat."

"Oh, are we calling names now you overgrown, buck-toothed cow of a traitor?"

he growled.

Pressing her lips together in anger, she looked away. "The world isn't black and white, Ronald. So much as you wish to believe, things aren't always as they seem."

Opening his mouth to spit out his next remark, Ron paused, finding the end of a wand thrust rather painfully into his jugular.

"Care to tell me what's going on here, Weasel?" Draco demanded quietly.

"Just having a friendly chat," he said.

"Doesn't look like that to me," he said, eyeing Ron's hand that was still locked around Hermione's wrist."

Quickly extricating his hand, Ron glared at Draco. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Malfoy," he said.

"I've made it my business," he said, stepping between Ron and Hermione. "And I suggest that you leave."

"You have no say over me, Malfoy."

"If you have any idea of what's good for you, I would leave," Draco said, pushing Ron in the direction of the library. "Now!"

Stalling, Ron prepared to give Draco a piece of his mind; however, a well placed wand was all the encouragement he needed to abide by Draco's words.

With Ron gone, Draco turned to Hermione. "Are you alright?"

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes avoiding the boy before her.

"Granger," he said gently.

"I'm fine," she said, discreetly wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.

"Granger, please, don't do this," he pleaded, reaching for her hand.

"I'm ok." She glanced at him and gave him a watery smile.

"Hermione," he called softly.

She shook her head, looking away again. "I'm fine."

Sighing, he pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. "Don't cry. He's not worth it."

"I'm not crying," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Sure you're not," he said.

"I'm not."

Running his hand through her hair, Draco rested his chin on the top of her head, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

Hermione pulled away a moment later as she felt trickles of warmth spread throughout her body. "What was that?"

Draco gazed down at her. "I discovered the other day that I can transfer heat."

"Oh," she said quietly. "I liked it…do it again?"

Draco nodded, and Hermione settled herself against him once again. Tendrils of heat built in her lower back and neck, his hands being the catalyst, and gradually spread through her body. She closed her eyes, inhaling his scent, something that lately drove her nearly insane with the degree of emotions it evoked within her.

"Hey, we've been looking everywhere for you…"

Draco glanced up as Harry trailed off.

"What happened," Harry said quickly, reaching out for the girl. "Hermione?"

"She had a run-in with the Weasel," he explained.

Harry's eyes widened. "Is she ok?"

"I think so," Draco said. "Some words were exchanged, but nothing else."

Harry nodded as Hermione took a step away from him. "I'm alright, Harry. I was just upset."

He nodded and they headed back to the table. However, as Hermione and Draco followed, their hands linked, fingers meshing together in an action that seemed so natural, neither seemed to notice.

* * *

It wasn't until Thursday morning, as the students woke and drag themselves down to the Great Hall for breakfast, that anything occurred that was worth noting. And that anything, that was most definitely worth noting, just happened to involve a certain hated professor, the morning post, and approximately a half-dozen red letters hollering loudly and fluttering about her head.

"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU USE A BLOOD QUILL ON MY DAUGHTER!" one shouted.

"A BLOOD QUILL! A BLOOD QUILL?!"

"THE SCHOOL BOARD WILL HEAR OF THIS…"

"I WANT YOU SACKED!"

Another spun around her head screaming obscenities for all to hear, all the while spouting remarks upon her intelligence, breeding, and moral value.

Professor Umbridge, red in the face, sat as the howlers circled her, screaming at such pitches and volumes that her ears rang. Another owl descended from the rafters, a large, red howler in his beak. Watching as the red letter drifted down to her and opened, she shook with rage, her beady eyes combing the student population with the practiced ease and pleasure of one accustomed to doling out punishment.

"WHAT IS THIS I HEAR? ARE YOU USING BLOOD QUILLS ON MY CHILDREN? YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO HOGWARTS AND ALL THAT IT STANDS FOR. I AM TEMPTED RIGHT HERE AND RIGHT NOW TO PULL MY CHILDREN OUT OF SCHOOL AND ENROLL THEM IN BEAUXBATON!"

With a snarling roar, she snatched the howler out of the air and tore it to pieces, the ripped segments of the howler exploding as she destroyed it, singeing her fingers and smearing her face with sooty ash. The student body sat and watched with expressions of an amusing mixture of horror, surprise, and amusement as Professor Umbridge proceeded to bat at the few remaining howlers fluttering about her head. Professor Dumbledore, who had been watching the aforementioned scene, finally decided that enough was enough and, with a wave of his hand, the howlers disappeared, and the Great Hall was once again silent.

"I believe we have seen enough," he said, standing to address the entire student body. "And I must say, while that was an interesting-"

"Excuse me, _Professor_, but I think I can handle this," Professor Umbridge said, standing up and walking around the head table. Her face twisted into a strange visage of enraged anger haloed in a pink dusting of rosy blush that had adorned her cheeks prior to the howlers. Every pair of eyes watched as she stood before them all, pink cardigan-covered chest heaving with anger, and pudgy hands clenched beneath her massive chest. "This is an _**outrage**_!" she began with. "I am a _respected_ and _upholding_ professor at this school and a member of the Ministry, and I am _**very**_ shocked that certain students, who I have yet to identify…oh, but I will, I will assure you that…have accused me of using a blood quill. I _will_ find the culprits of this prank. You will _**not**_ go unpunished." And with that, she straightened her robes and strode out of the Great Hall, her chin held high.

* * *

Saturday morning, an article appeared in the Daily Prophet, beside which sat a photograph of everybody's most hated professor in all of her pinkified glory. The article boasted the following headline in tall black letters:

**CONTROVERSY AT HOGWARTS: PROFESSOR UMBRIDGE ACCUSED OF USING A BLOOD QUILL AGAINST STUDENTS – TRUTH OR A HORRIBLE LIE?**

Hermione leaned over her copy of the Daily Prophet as did Harry and Ginny, Harry reading over her shoulder. Further down the table, Ron sat seated between two third years. Finished with his breakfast, he swiftly rose and vacated the Great Hall, his form sweeping coldly past Harry and Hermione. Ginny turned in her seat and glared at him, the sound uttered from her throat a growl.

Sighing, Hermione pressed her lips together and returned her attention to the article in her hands. "This is utter rubbish," she said. "Look at this." She pointed to a paragraph. "Dolores Umbridge remarks upon the severity of the claim, 'I am simply appalled at the accusation made against me. I would never use such a form of punishment against the students of Hogwarts.'," she read. "Oh, and look, she continues, 'I would like to assure concerned parents that no such form of punishment is used at Hogwarts. The students behind this, once they come forward, will be dealt with accordingly.' This is awful." Throwing down the paper, Hermione crossed her arms and scowled at the offending article.

"We definitely didn't foresee this happening," Harry said, staring at the paper with trepidation.

Beside them, Ginny leaned over, her paper folded in half and her finger pointing towards the end of the article. "Read this," she demanded.

Taking the paper, Harry read, "With such accusations occurring on the premises of Hogwarts, one must question the role of the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Certainly, accusations such as this would not have occurred if the headmaster had been doing his job. And that, of course, rises up other concerns. Is Dumbledore fit to run a castle full of rambunctious teenagers? Has his age finally begun to wear on his mind?"

Mouth agape and eyes wide with barely held back anger, Hermione growled and ripped the paper from Harry's hands, tossing it to the floor. "That is nothing but lies," she seethed.

Ginny agreed, her eyes hard and full of the fury barely contained within herself. Harry glanced up at the head table, his eyes watching as Professor Dumbledore merrily read the paper, the section containing the article purposefully set aside. Three chairs down, Professor Umbridge smugly ate her breakfast, her beady eyes roving the tables of students. Shuddering, Harry returned to his own breakfast.

Across the hall, Draco was feeling very similar emotions in regards to the article. However, he was doing a much better job of hiding it than those sitting at the Gryffindor table.

"In previous years, the management of Hogwarts has typically been left to the direction of the headmaster himself with input from the school board. However, pending recent events, this reporter and others higher up in the Ministry wonder whether more intervention on the Ministry's part is needed," he read quietly to himself.

Sighing quietly, very quietly, to himself, he let his eyes lazily roam over the Slytherin table, being careful to maintain an air of indifference and subtle pleasure at the article's contents. He met the eyes of several classmates, Theodore and Pansy looking quite pleased as they perused the article. It wasn't until he caught the eyes of Stephano and Kristen that he met carefully hidden disgust and wary trepidation. Once again sighing to himself, he folded his paper up and continued on with his breakfast.

* * *

Over the course of the next three days, other articles popped up in the Daily Prophet.

**THE FUTURE OF HOGWARTS – SHOULD WE BE WORRIED?**

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: TRUSTED LEADER OR SENILE OLD MAN?**

**EDUCATION REFORM IN THE NEAR FUTURE?**

Although they contained varying headlines and content, they all asked the same question: Would Hogwarts be better off if it were run by the Ministry?

Consequentially, the appearance of such articles caused a select group of students, all bound by a magical oath, to worry and wonder if their previous actions were indeed a smart move to make. However, before anything could be decided regarding their next meeting, the plot itself thickened with the introduction of another educational decree.

* * *

"Professor! She can't do this." Hermione sat in Professor Dumbledore's office, Harry beside her.

Earlier that day, Professor Umbridge had announced, with glee, the addition of Educational Decree #25 – All incoming and outgoing post is to be inspected by the High Inquisitor.

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that she can," he said sadly, glancing at the girl in question over his half-moon spectacles.

"But she can't!" Depositing a large book onto his desk, Fawkes shifting upon his perch at the loud thump, she flipped it open to a marked page and read, "Section Five: Regulations Upon Student Privacy - unless there is undisputable evidence against a student, the privacy of a student may not be invaded." She glanced up at the headmaster. "It's right there, Professor, written as clear as day. She _cannot_ do this."

"Hermione's right, Professor," Harry said. "Professor Umbridge can't do this. It's against school policy."

Humming to himself, Dumbledore reached for the book, studying the section for himself. Blue eyes, with nary a sparkle, glanced up at the two students occupying his office. "It would appear that that would be so," he said. "However, as High Inquisitor, and a mandated employee of the Ministry filling a position at Hogwarts, Professor Umbridge is exempt from certain policies such as this."

"That…that can't be. It…" She shook her head.

Dumbledore regarded her. "I am afraid that it is."

"But…there must be something you can do," Hermione pleaded desperately. "As headmaster, there must be something."  
"I wish there was, my dear girl," he said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers poised beneath his chin. "However, my position in this school is already in a precarious balance."

Hermione stared agape at the Headmaster.

Harry glanced at Hermione momentarily before directing his attention to Dumbledore. "Professor, can't you do something…anything? She's been using blood quills during detentions," he said. "There must be something you can do."

Regretful sadness filled his eyes. "It has certainly come to my attention that such practices were being used," he said, nodding his head at the both of them. "And I assure you that precautions have been set into place."

"Precautions?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "For instance, all of Professor Umbridge's blood quills have been confiscated. And I found quite a few…and in the oddest of places," he mused, "as if she were hiding them…" He paused a moment. "Now, I dare say that this meeting must end," he said. "I am needed elsewhere." Standing, he headed towards the door, ushering Harry and Hermione along. Opening the door, he smiled kindly upon the both of them. "Oh, and Harry?" he said.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do continue as you have been," he said. "It is students like you, and the others, who persevere that give the rest of us hope."

"I…I will, Sir."

* * *

"So, there really isn't anything he can do," Draco said to Hermione the next day.

She shook her head. "He's in no position to do anything," she said softly before sighing. "Everything is such a mess."

Their classroom had truly become a sanctuary in the wake of previous events, the both of them seeking it out several times a day just for a break from the current state of Hogwarts. With Umbridge's ever tightening hold over Hogwarts, the diminishing state of the Trio's friendship, the constant onslaught of slanderous Daily Prophet articles, and Dumbledore's weakening influence not only in Hogwarts but in the Ministry as well, things were definitely looking bleak, and stress often peaked throughout the day.

Sighing, Hermione leaned over and rested her head on Draco's shoulder, shifting slightly on the stone floor where they sat, their backs resting against the wall. Draco glanced down at her and smiled faintly.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you suppose this all means?" she asked, knowing all too well what it all meant as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt.

"The Ministry's trying to take over Hogwarts," he answered, watching as her hand played with the fabric of her skirt. The fingers of his hand itched to grab hers.

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" she said softly, knowingly.

For a long while, Draco said nothing, choosing to merely watch as she worried the fraying edge of her skirt.

"Draco?"

Her soft voice drew him from his thoughts and he shifted his gaze to her face. "No," he said. "No, it won't."

Sighing once again, Hermione reached for and grabbed Draco's hand. Lightly, she drew her fingers over his palm, linking her fingers with his. Draco glanced down at her as Hermione looked up. Warm brown eyes delved into his own, and he nearly got lost in the depths of what he likened to hot chocolate. His eyes roved over her face, trailing down the short, button nose and brushing against the soft lips. His hand unconsciously drew up to her face, tenderly stroking the skin of her face. Hermione froze at his touch, tingles zigzagging down her spine and diving into her stomach. She felt herself fall into his gaze, allowing herself to become completely lost in his mere presence. Their hands were still joined, and their eyes locked, when a soft knock at the door startled them from their own personal reveries. Hermione jumped back with a gasp as Draco looked away, straightening his robes.

Both sighed, hearts aching with the knowledge, the knowledge that nearly guaranteed the possibility of heartbreak in the end if they allowed things to progress any further.

Draco had a bonded, and that could not be overlooked.

Sighing, Hermione got to her feet. "I'll see who it is," she said, walking to the door.

The middle of the week prior, Hermione had charmed a mirror to act as a surveillance device, allowing anyone within the room to view everything and anything outside. Just as classroom number thirty-one had become her and Draco's sanctuary, they found it too acted as a place of refuge for a few select others. Peering through the mirror, she spotted Ginny waiting patiently in the corridor, her long, red hair tied back into a low ponytail.

"State your name and business," Hermione demanded.

Outside, Ginny rolled her eyes. "My name is Ginevra Weasley, and when I was a third year I once went to class without socks."

Sighing, Hermione smiled. "You can come in, Ginny," she said.

"I have Luna with me," Ginny said, Luna's blond head suddenly appearing from behind Ginny.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said.

"State your name and business," Hermione said.

"Luna Lovegood and I often dream of fields of nargles," she said quietly, barely louder than a whisper.

Nodding, Hermione opened the door.

"I still think that's ridiculous," Ginny commented upon entering the room.

"You know it's needed," Hermione said, closing the door the moment the both of them were in the room.

"I think it's rather amusing," Luna said lightly, wandering through the room. "Oh, hello Draco."

Ginny snapped her head around. "Draco's in here?" she hissed to Hermione, her eyes bright.

The boy in question stood and nodded his head to Ginny as Luna smiled up at him. "You're taller than I remember," she said wistfully.

He glanced down at her. "And you're shorter than I remember," he said dryly.

Smiling, she looked up at him. "Hmm, you're quite funny," she said before turning and moving to inspect a curious object in the corner.

Draco raised an eye at Hermione, who raised one in return as if to say, 'What did you expect?'

Ginny, missing this exchange, crossed the classroom and hoisted herself onto the teacher's desk. Leaning back on her hands, she stared at the ceiling as Luna seated herself in one of the desks. "We need to do something about Ron," Ginny said. "It's getting out of control."

"He strays…"

Hermione, Draco, and Ginny spun around to stare at Luna.

"…far from where he began," she said wistfully. Then, looking up at their three gaping faces, she tilted her head to the side the slightest bit and smiled. "What were we speaking about now?"

"Luna," Hermione began slowly. "How long have you been a Seer?"

Luna frowned in a pensive manner. "I'm not quite sure. Daddy says I have always had the gift, but I didn't really believe him," she said. "He often lives in his dreams." She nodded slowly, her eyes wide.

"Do you remember the prophesy you told during the DA meeting?" Ginny asked suddenly.

Luna frowned. "I've never told a full prophesy before," she said. "That was my first one."

"But do you remember?"

For several long moments, she stared up at the ceiling, her hazy, blue eyes unfocused. "No, I can't say I do," she said.

"I wrote it down afterwards," Hermione said, rummaging around in her bag. "I think I have it with me." She extracted a folded slip of parchment from her bag. "Ah, here it is." Handing it to Ginny, she spoke. "The first two lines obviously point to…"

"…to Ron leaving," Ginny said.

Hermione nodded as all four of them sat down in a desk, scooting them around so they faced each other. "It's the last line that I don't understand."

"_If words prove to be true, a hidden betrayal, masked in mistaken intensions, may mend what forever could have been lost_," Ginny read. "But it doesn't make sense."

"A hidden betrayal," Hermione said. "Hasn't he already betrayed us?" Bitterness and sorrow leaked into her voice.

"Not yet," Draco suddenly said. "He can't…he signed the parchment."

Hermione nodded. "True," she said. "So, perhaps this is speaking of someone else."

"Doubtful," Draco said. "The prophesy speaks of the Weasel. It wouldn't make sense to shift the subject."

"Point taken," she said. "And here, where it says, _masked in mistaken intensions_. Mistaken intensions," she repeated.

"This makes no sense," Ginny said. "No sense at all."

"Mistaken intensions," Luna mused softly. "It makes perfect sense."

"What?!" Draco said. "How?"

Hermione frowned and nodded.

Softly tilting her head, Luna smiled. "He's going to do one thing, yet another all at the same time."

Confused silence wafted down upon the other three.

"You're barmy," Draco suddenly said. "Completely off your rocker."

A sharp, "Draco!"

Followed by a catty, "Excuse me?!"

Was soon followed by a wispy, "Oh, I know."

The three voices, all responding to his uttered exclamation, clashed noisily, the last floating upon the air.

"What?" Raising his eyebrows, he held up his hands innocently. "She admitted it."

Sending him a scolding look, Hermione deftly reached over and boxed him upside the head. "But you don't say it, you prat!"

Cowering playfully, Draco held up his hands in a placating manner. "Ok, ok, Granger," he said.

"I think you should apologize to her," Ginny said.

"What?!"

"Go on," Hermione said, holding back a grin.

"Fine," he groaned before turning to Luna. "Sorry, Lovegood."

"It's quite alright," she said, smiling. "I know what I am, and what I am not."

"Right," he said slowly, drawing the work out as he averted his eyes, catching Hermione's eye pleadingly.

"Anyways," she said, glancing at Ginny. "Where were we?"

Glancing at her watch, Ginny stood. "I have a date with Michael Corner in half an hour," she said.

"And I believe there's an essay waiting for me to finish," Luna mused, picking up her bag. "I must get to it before the nargles do."

With words of departure said, Hermione and Draco were once again alone.

"So," Draco said, turning to Hermione, "want to go to the kitchens?"

And with that, the classroom was completely empty.

* * *

**Author's Note – **Don't forget to check the forum every now and then. You can find a like in my profile. Oh, and review and let me know what you think of this chapter.


	31. Aequus Prius Tempestas

**Author's Note – **Here's the next chapter. It would have been out a week and a half ago if my computer hadn't crashed. Luckily, I lost nothing, and I learned to back up my writing constantly. I haven't got much to say except I'm indifferent to this chapter. Leave me a review.

**Another Note – **The chapter title means, "Calm Before the Storm," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own anything.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

"Aequus Prius Tempestas"

* * *

Monday morning, during her brief break between History of Magic and Potions, Hermione sat in the Great Hall going over her Ancient Runes essay one last time. Beside her, a letter from her mother sat, _Approved_, stamped in red in the upper left corner, courtesy of Educational Decree # 25.

Finished scrutinizing her essay, she stuffed it in her bag, along with her mother's letter, and fished out a spare bit of parchment, scribbling a brief note before folding and tucking it into her pocket.

Eyes glancing at the clock, she quickly gathered her things and exited the Great Hall. Sprinting up three flights of stairs and turning a corner, she paused at their classroom. Hand on the doorknob, she glanced in one direction and then the other before turning the handle and entering, the door shutting softly behind her.

Immediately, the room was aglow, the half-dozen candles being lit instantly. Hermione froze, her folded note falling to the floor as panic rose in her throat.

"Who…oh, it's just you." Lowering his wand, Draco gave her half a grin, a hand coming up to run through his hair.

Letting the lungful of air she'd been holding out, she stooped to pick up the note. "You nearly scared the magic out of me," she said.

"Sorry," he said.

Giving him a small smile, she glanced at the note in her hand. "Well, no point in this then."

"Yours is in the drawer," he said, gesturing to the dusty old desk in the back of the room.

Crumpling up the note, she looked to him. "Are you still coming tonight?"

"As far as I know."

"Remember-"

"Yeah, seven o'clock…I know."

"Right."

Somewhere in the castle, a bell chimed, carrying loudly through all the corridors and seeping into each room.

Hermione looked up. "We should go."

With a wave of his hand, the flames dancing atop the candles zoomed back to Draco, melding with his outstretched hand.

"That was neat," she said as Draco poked his head out the door. "I didn't know you could do that."

Drawing his head back into the classroom, he grinned at her. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he said playfully, waggling his eyebrows up and down.

"Oh shut it," she said, swatting his arm. "Is the hallway clear?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll go first."

"Alright," she said.

Grinning at her one last time, he slipped out the door, leaving the swirling remnants of his smile fluttering about in her stomach. Sighing, Hermione shook her head and left the room.

* * *

Harry stood before the DA that night, Hermione on one side and Draco on the other. "We're going to try something different today," he said. "And I think you're up to the challenge."

Several shouts sounded from the crowd, expressing their enthusiasm. Exchanging glances, Draco, Hermione, and Harry drew their wands. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Three forms materialized from their wands, each glowing ethereally. A stag circled the room, head held high as eyes turned in awe to admire Harry's Patronus. Following the stag, Hermione's otter dipped and darted along the floor, weaving in and out of the students' feet. The last, belonging to Draco, proved to be the most unusual. Emanating from his wand, it first appeared as a jet of fire, cast in the iridescent blue characteristic of the Patronus charm. The jet of fire quickly formed itself into a ball, darting about the room to the awed amusement of each DA member present, as noted by their "Ohh's" and "Ahh's." And then, from the fire, a figure materialized, standing upon two feet with two large wings unfurling upon his back. He stood in the center of the room, his body shimmering and glowing as he cast his gaze around. Silence, dead silence, descended upon the Room of Requirement.

"Bloody hell," a voice muttered.

"What is it?" another whispered.

"Dunno."

"Never seen anything like it."

All eyes stared at the Patronus, all except one pair. Luna turned towards Draco and smiled faintly. He met her gaze indifferently and promptly looked away.

Harry glanced at Draco, having not seen his Patronus before. Draco, appearing as nonplussed and as casual as usual, regarded his Patronus and the DA nonchalantly, as if the form his Patronus decided to take was quite normal and not even a smidge out of the ordinary. Hermione stared at him, knowing fully well what his Patronus' form was.

"The Patronus charm, while difficult, if not highly advanced magic, is probably one of the most useful spells you can know," Harry began, his stag taking several bold strides across the Room of Requirement. "The first, and foremost, reason being that it wards off Dementors."

With excitement coursing through the room, it wasn't long before the theory behind the spell and the wand movements were covered, the DA dispersing, spreading themselves out through the expansive room to practice. Harry, Draco, and Hermione wandered through the students as they practiced, adjusting a wand movement here and correcting a pronunciation there.

Neville stood with his wand gripped tightly in his hand. Steeling his eyes in a look of determination, he thrust his wand outwards. "Expecto Patronum," he said, watching expectantly. However, when nothing, not so much as a hint of mist, happened, he sighed and tried again.

"No…no…Longbottom, you're doing it all wrong."

Neville whipped around. "W-What?"

"Your wand movements," Draco said, approaching Neville. "It's more of a swish than a flick at the end."

"Oh," he said, still staring at Draco.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco nodded his head. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Let's see it."

Swallowing thickly, Neville nodded. "Expectro Patronum!" he said again, casting the spell, making a pointed mental note to swish his wand instead of flicking.

"No, more swishing," Draco said when nothing happened.

Sighing, but not giving up, Neville cast the spell again. "I did it!" he exclaimed a moment later when a small stream of mist escaped from his wand, disappearing a second later.

Draco raised an eyebrow critically. "Indeed you did," he said. "But you can do better."

Pausing, Neville stared at Draco again. "I can?" he asked, his tone suggesting that he didn't believe he could.

"You could hardly call what you just cast a Patronus," he said, studying the shy, fifth year.

Neville fidgeted on his feet.

"What memory are you using to cast the spell?" he asked.

"M-Memory?"

"Yes," Draco drawled slowly.

"I…I think about when I got my…my Hogwarts letter," he said quietly. "I knew for sure then I wasn't a squib."

"Not strong enough," Draco said hastily. "Think of something stronger."

Neville frowned. "Um…but it's a very happy memory," he said hesitantly.

"That may be the case, but it's an old memory," he said. "They fade over time."

"But…"

"You need to think of something new, Longbottom," Draco said.

Sighing, he cast his eyes around hopelessly, not knowing what would compare with the memory of knowing without a doubt that he was a wizard and not a squib. And then he found it, and once found, Neville nearly wanted to smack himself for not thinking of that which was directly before him. Standing a few meters in front of him, casting away without a care in the world, Luna watched as her Patronus form, not quite a Corporeal Patronus, but holding a definite shape, hopped along mid-air. Then, as if sensing his eyes upon her, Luna glanced back and smiled before returning her attention to the silvery rabbit Patronus.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and pulled up a memory from the previous day. They had been taking a stroll around the pond, snow falling gently from above as they chatted about anything that happened to enter their minds. It would have been an ordinary, happy memory for Neville if it weren't for the moment Luna took his hand in hers and smiled up at him.

Opening his eyes, Neville nodded, nervously glancing at Draco, who had been waiting patiently. "Alright," he said. "I have one."

"Don't just stand there," Draco quipped. "Let's see it."

Closing his eyes again, finding the same memory at the surface of his consciousness. Allowing an emotion that made his heart swell to the point he thought it would burst, he opened his eyes. "_Expecto Patronum!_" he cried, mist immediately leaping from his wand, forming into the rough form of a large feline.

"Well, what do you know," Draco drawled, an eyebrow raised. "You actually had it in you."

"I-I did it…I did it," he said, pure shock and happiness mixing into one ecstatic emotion. "Harry, I did it!"

Harry, who had been helping Cho Chang with her Patronus, glanced up, a large and bright grin on his face. "Well done, Neville!" he shouted, after which followed several echoes of the same sentiment, many DA members slapping Neville on the back in a congratulatory manner.

Draco turned around and approached Hermione, whose eye he caught halfway across the Room of Requirement.

"I dare say that was the kindest thing you've ever done," she said wryly, grinning and bumping her hip into his.

"Are you suggesting I'm going soft, Granger?" he answered.

"And if I am?" she responded cheekily.

He paused. "Then I would just have to have my way with you," he said.

Hermione snorted in amusement. "How you kept your face straight, I don't know," she said, laughing.

Rolling his eyes, he smirked. "I'm just that good."

Smacking his arm, she grabbed her bag. "We all should go before it's curfew."

The remaining students filed out of the Room of Requirement, the door melting back into the wall as they walked away.

* * *

The Christmas Holidays came upon the students of Hogwarts quicker than they expected, not that they were complaining. Two days before the last day of term, Hermione and Draco managed to find some time alone, holing themselves up in their classroom directly after classes had ended. An assortment of food surrounded them, nicked from the Kitchens, neither planning on attending dinner.

"Ready?" Hermione asked as they sat on the floor, an opened and half-finished butterbeer beside her left knee. "One…two…three!"

Both drew a card from the top of the stack of Muggle playing cards in their hands, tossing them down on the floor.

"Ah ha! I win," she exclaimed, scooping up the two cards and adding them to her ever growing stack.

"No fair!"

"A three beats out a two any day," she said. "And a win, is a win."

Draco mumbled something to himself, shoving a handful of Every Flavor Beans into his mouth before chucking a black one at her head.

"Hey!" she shouted indignantly, combing through her hair, extracting the black bean. "You did that on purpose."

"It slipped," he claimed.

"Slipped my arse," she said, throwing the bean back at Draco, giggling as it bounced off of his forehead. "Point for Granger!"

"You little…" he growled, getting to his feet as Hermione stood up.

"You little what?" she asked, trying not to laugh as she backed down the aisle between two rows of desks. "What? Cat got your tongue?" she taunted when he didn't say anything.

A devilish smirk appeared on his face. "You're not getting away with that," he said.

"With what?" she said innocently.

He took a step forward, the smirk still firmly upon his face, although the magnetic pull of a full on grin tugged at the corners. "You know what I mean," he said.

Hermione continued to walk backwards, her hands brushing against the tops of the desks she passed. "Oh, you do, do you now?"

"Uh huh," he said, his eyes never leaving her as he stalked her.

"Oh," she said. "And what, praytell, are you going to do about it?"

Draco watched her, her eyebrows raised and her face grinning, her words an obviously playful taunt. The smirk melted into a smile that quickly turned devilish. "This," he quietly said, leaping forward.

Anticipating his move, Hermione leapt out of the way, darting between desks. "Missed me!"

Recovering gracefully, Draco continued to stalk her. "Why don't you try that again?" he requested.

Grinning, she shook her head, putting two desks between them, her eyes never leaving his body as it wound its way through the classroom. "I don't think so," she said.

"What? Scared I'll catch you?"

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"You should."

"And why is that?"

"Because I said so," she said.

"And who said I do as you say?" he said, now only one desk between them.

She paused, grinning largely. "No one has to say anything," she said. "You do it anyways."

"I do not," he said indignantly.

"You do too!"

"Do not!"

She shook her head, laughing. "I'm not playing this."

"Scared you'll lose?"

"No."

"Then what?"

He leaned over the desk. Hermione planted her hands on the other side, leaning in towards Draco. A slow smile crept up upon her features as she darted out one hand and flicked him upon the nose. Squealing with her own ingenious pleasure, she turned and darted between two more desks.

"You are certainly not getting away with that this time!" Draco shouted, giving chase.

"Oh really? Are you willing to…" Hermione spun around and screeched as Draco stood directly behind her, a dangerously impish smirk upon his face.

Draco took a step forward, Hermione taking one behind, each step matched one for the other until, suddenly, she found herself pinned against the wall.

"You're trapped now."

Raising her chin, not wanting him to think he had won just yet, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm scared," she said.

"Quivering in your knickers."

Jaw dropping, Hermione jabbed him in the side. "You leave my knickers out of it," she demanded.

"I think they're fair game," he announced.

Scowling, she went to jab him again.

"Ah ah," he said, catching her arms.

Hermione frowned.

Draco smiled.

"What're you gonna do now?"

She paused, thinking.

"Come on now."

"I'm thinking."

"We don't have all night." Draco gazed down at her, his hair falling over his eyes.

"Then shut up and let me think," Hermione said, theorizing that his eyes must have been magnetic, for she couldn't seem to tear her own away.

Draco let his eyes brush up against the soft features of her face, lingering on her lips. "I'm waiting," he said, his voice but a mere whisper.

"You're impatient."

"You take too long."

His hands, which had previously been holding both of her wrists, gravitated towards her, one coming to rest on her waist while the other gently lost itself in her hair. Hermione let her hands fall to her sides.

"I…I need to…" she trailed off, her mind too caught up upon the hand resting on her waist, the heat searing through her, and the other entangled in her hair, the thumb of which began to gently caress her cheek.

"You need to what?" he asked softly.

"Think," she answered softly.

"Why?"

She didn't answer, all too aware of his body pressing into hers. Electricity shot through her body, leaving her buzzing with his presence.

"I dunno."

"Then don't."

His hand shifted on her waist as he dipped his head towards hers, his eyes watching hers. Hermione was aware of his warm breath upon her cheek, silky strands of his hair brushing up against her forehead, his hand on her waist, the other now cradling her face. He was everywhere.

"I…I…"

He shook his head.

"No."

Hermione's hand gripped the fabric of his shirt, her breaths coming in short bursts. Draco could feel her heartbeat, pounding in her chest. His thumb ran across the skin of her cheek again. Electricity crackled between them, heat radiating from one body to the other.

And then it was broken, Hermione jumping away.

"Right…right then." She straightened her shirt, looking everywhere except where Draco stood, still lost in his emotions. "Presents…"

"What?" Slowly, he looked up at her.

"We haven't exchanged Christmas presents yet," she said, bending down to search through her bag that sat on the floor beside the teacher's desk, acting as if nothing had just happened.

Draco watched her, feeling dazed.

Hermione glanced up at him, a neatly wrapped gift in her hand. "What?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the floor. "Nothing," he said.

And with nothing more than another moment's pause, they got on with the gift-giving, the ever-present cloud hanging over their head, reminding them of Draco's fate.


	32. Feriae Festivum

**Author's Note – **Well, it only took a month this time to get this chapter out. Let me know what you think. Please read the warning below for this chapter deals with some sensitive material.

**WARNING** – This chapter contains certain material that may upset some readers. It toes the border between T and M ratings. I won't state what this chapter contains for I don't want to ruin it for you, but keep the warning in mind.

**Another Note – **The title means "Holiday Cheer" in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Harry Potter or The Nutcracker.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

"Feriae Festivum"

* * *

_Dear Draco,_

_I hope you're having a great holiday. My mother and I spent three hours this morning in the kitchen making Christmas cookies. I'm sending a dozen or so along with this letter. Try the ones with the little candies on top. They're called M&M's. I think you'll enjoy them._

_I'm sure you've heard by now about Mr. Weasley. If not, he was attacked two nights ago while on guard duty at the Ministry. There's an article in the Daily Prophet about it, although it contains many inaccuracies. However, I suppose I really can't expect a newspaper that printed slanderous articles about Harry last year to get all of its facts straight. He nearly died, though, and if it weren't for Harry's dream, there's a good chance we would be having a funeral. We all went to visit him yesterday at St. Mungo's. They say he'll be just fine; and apparently that's true, considering word got out that there were a few Muggles laid up in St. Mungo's and he wanted to go investigate. Ron was there, although we didn't speak. His mother kept looking between all of us. I know she suspects something is going on, but it's rather difficult hiding the fact that we're no longer friends from her. I try not to think about it. He'd been my best friend for nearly five years._

_I want to thank you again for the bracelet. I love it; although, I still think you shouldn't have. However, mum said, since it was a gift, I should stop saying that. _

Hermione smiled faintly, gazing at the bracelet fastened around her wrist. Her fingers ran over the beads, all of varying sizes, the three largest swirling with reds and yellows. Rather reminiscent of flames, she realized.

_How are you enjoying _A Rare Glimpse_? I must admit, it was rather difficult to find, so I suppose we're even. Have you gotten to chapter eleven yet? That's the whole reason I bought the book for you. I thought you would appreciate the author's viewpoint on the Ignius, although I find it strange that he relates their mating habits to a common Harpy. I hardly think that dignifies him, but it is interesting. What do you think about the passage on page 241? I'd like your input on that._

_I suppose that is all I have to update you on. I hope you're having a pleasant time at the Manor._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Nodding her head in satisfaction, Hermione folded the letter into thirds and rolled it into a tight scroll. Tying it off with a short ribbon, she handed it to Zander, who had been waiting patiently on the edge of her desk, his eyes drooping lazily. Letter in beak, the owl perked up and swooped out the window. Getting up, she closed the window, cutting off the chilled wind that had spilled into her room.

"Hermione, love!" her mother called from the foot of the stairs.

"Yes?" she answered back, poking her head out and into the hallway.

"Your father and I are ready to decorate the tree," she said. "Why don't you come down?"

"I'll be there in a moment," she said.

Returning to her desk, she carefully rolled up her Potions essay and the notes she had been taking when Zander appeared at her window. Tucking them into her school bag, she straightened her sweater and left the room, the heavy aroma of hot cocoa wafting up from the kitchen. The calendar on the wall told of four days until Christmas.

* * *

In a large expansive house in Wiltshire, a young man stood before his father. Hair of palest blond and eyes of stony gray, he listened as his father spoke. Words sailed through the air, faint and carrying like echos, but strong and demanding at the same time. The words stopped, and with nothing even resembling a second thought, the young man raised his wand and did as he was told.

* * *

Snow fell from the sky in large, fluffy flakes, coating the ground in a blanket of pure white. The Grangers walked along the carefully shoveled pavement, gentle renditions of traditional Christmas carols serenading the cold night. Neighbors appeared at their windows, pushing curtains out of the way. Doors opened, families smiling and soaking up the holiday cheer, some singing along while others merely watched.

* * *

Darkness filled the land surrounding the imposing manor, nearly choking in its intensity. A stale chill drifted through the hallways, filling every corner as if it had always been that way. In a set of rooms placed off of the East Wing, the young master of the manor sat unseeingly before the fire. His eyes stared off into nothingness; the gray orbs that had once been full of vibrant life had thus since dulled.

Clear across the manor, the mistress paced her rooms, worrying the fabric of her robes. She glanced at the enchanted calendar sitting upon her desk. It told of three days before Christmas.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope this gets to you before Christmas. It should, I sent it off with plenty of time for Pig to fly over to your house. We're all at "The Place Mum Would Go Mental About If I Wrote It In This Letter," and I mean all of us. Ron is still being a right git. Fred and George managed to slime him the other day. It smelled suspiciously of Mum's left over tuna casserole. How they made it green is beside me. However, it gave his hair a nice green hue and he's taken to sulking in his room for the past day, so I can't complain._

_Dad's doing much better. They released him from St. Mungo's the other day, and we had a small party for him. Harry's here with us. He's telling me to say 'hi' and to remind you not to study too much. Oh, and he mentions that if Fred and George send you anything that's green and smells like tuna to not open it. It would just toss it if I were you. When are you going to come over here? Mum says you're coming after Christmas, but I don't see why you can't be here for Christmas. Although, I do know you want to spend it with your family. I guess we all just miss you._

_Speaking of missing people, have you heard from Draco? And don't roll your eyes at me!_

Hermione paused from reading Ginny's letter, a small smile forming on her lips as she caught herself doing just what Ginny told her not to. Shaking her head, she resumed reading.

_I know the two of you wrote back and forth last summer. After hearing you and Draco had been friends, Mystery Boy obviously had to have been him. Right? Because if Mystery Boy was somebody completely different then you would have some explaining to do. So, have you heard from him?_

_Alright, well, Mum's hollering at me to get washed up for dinner. I've sent our gifts with Pig. Dad charmed them and to resize them, just tap them with your wand. It was the only way Pig could carry everything._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

_P.S. Hey, Hermione, this is Harry. Have you seen yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet? The article on page seven, to be specific._

Setting the magically miniaturized package containing the gifts aside, Hermione reached for the scroll sitting beside the letter. Unrolling it, Hermione allowed her eyes to scan the article ripped from the newspaper, a deep frown slowly creasing between her brows.

**MAGICAL EDUCATION REFORM**

Several key passages stuck out in Hermione's mind.

_"The quality of education in this establishment has hit a sharp decline," states Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Magical Liaison between the Ministry and Hogwarts…_

_…and it has thus become apparent that if Hogwarts is to continue to produce functioning witches and wizards, the Ministry __**must**__ become more involved in a more proactive manner…_

_…a committee of the Ministry's highest officials has garnered an emergency meeting during the Christmas holidays to revisit and revise not only the learning objectives and goals but also the general structure of the school…_

_…parents and concerned members of the wizarding community can expect changes to occur as soon as the next school term…_

Sighing, Hermione set the article to the edge of her desk, her mind mulling over the main points as she tapped the wrapped package with her wand.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned cold and crisp, Hermione waking early to the smell of pancakes cooking downstairs. The excitement of Christmas morning filled her, warmth and joy spreading outward to her limbs. Throwing off her covers, she slipped her feet into her slippers and padded downstairs.

"Happy Christmas, Mum," she said.

Her mother smiled down at her and kissed her atop her curly head. "Happy Christmas to you too, my love," she said, flipping the pancake.

Her father appeared moments later, his robe fastened around his body. "Happy Christmas to my two favorite women," he greeted, hugging Hermione and her mother.

Love drifted through the kitchen, happiness only enhanced by the sweet smells of breakfast cooking and the sparking lights on the Christmas tree.

* * *

Another family woke upon the morning of Christmas, the young master sitting at the dining room table, his fork moving from plate to mouth mechanically. Across from him, his father studied him with smug satisfaction.

"You will prove your worth today, my son," he said, regarding the boy with frozen eyes.

"Yes, Father."

Down the table, his mother busied herself with her eggs, not allowing herself to express the pain she felt.

* * *

"Oh, mum!" Hermione grinned brightly as she held up the sweater. "It's beautiful."

Her mother smiled warmly. "I'm glad you like it."

"Here, this one's from just me." Her father passed Hermione a large envelope, a playful glimmer in his eye.

* * *

"Follow me." Lucius Malfoy rose from the table.

Draco obeyed automatically.

They reached the door and Lucius turned. "Narcissa," he said. "Come."

Narcissa jerked and stared at her husband, her mere slip of resolve quickly covered as she folded her napkin. "Yes, dear."

* * *

Hermione stared at the three tickets in her hand. "How…how did you get these?" she asked, glancing up at her father.

Her father grinned. "Oh, one of my patients knows somebody," he said, rather off-handedly.

Jaw hanging open, she stared at the ballet tickets. "I've always wanted to go," she said softly.

"I know," her father with an easy smile.

"And…" She once again studied the tickets, her eyes widening. "…they're for tonight!?"

He nodded.

Squealing, Hermione launched herself at her father.

* * *

The door to the dungeon beneath Malfoy Manor squeaked dismally as Lucius pushed it open. Draco entered and as Narcissa followed, she faultered.

"Lucius…" She trailed off, dreading what could very well be in the future. "Lucius…please…don't do this…"

Lucius cut her off with a sharp glare.

* * *

Pure elation filled Hermione as she hugged her father.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Anything for my Hermy," he said.

Blushing, Hermione pulled away. "Dad," she said in playful indignation.

"What?" he said innocently. "I've called you that since you were in primary school."

"You both better wrap things up," Mrs. Granger called from the kitchen, water running in the sink. "We're leaving in an hour."

* * *

In the holding cell a dozen muggles sat huddled in the corner, some crying while others spoke up in angered rage. Lucius ignored the muggles and stood before his son, tall and regal. Hair swept back, he directed his gaze to the young man.

"Today you will truly know what it is to be a Malfoy," he said proudly.

* * *

The London Coliseum was crowded, packed from one end of the theater to the other. Hermione and her mother and father sat three rows from the stage.

"This is so exciting," she said as members of the audience milled about and chatted, waiting for the performance to begin.

Moments later, the lights dimmed, the audience quieting down. The curtains opened upon a party, a Christmas Eve party. Leaning forward, Hermione watched as two young children appeared on the stage, a doll held in the girl's arms. Smiling, she briefly thought of Draco, hoping he was having just as great of a holiday as she was.

* * *

Blood and the stench of burnt flesh filled Draco's nose. Narcissa stood against the wall, her eyes watering against the smell as waves of nausea threatened to spill her breakfast.

"Burn this one," Lucius demanded.

Raising his right hand, Draco stared at the small muggle child, crying and whimpering as she sat upon the dungeon floor. She couldn't have been more than five.

"Mummy," she cried softly, tears running down her face.

Draco faultered.

"_Burn her_," Lucius repeated, his voice drifting through Draco's consciousness like a whisper, and he complied.

Narcissa cried softly as she watched the girl burst into flame. Her screams filled the dungeon, high pitched and keening with her agony. Once her screaming faded to a barely manageable series of groans, Lucius flicked his wand, the girl flying through the air and landing upon the slowly growing pile of dying or dead muggles.

* * *

A man appeared on the stage, a large bag thrown over his shoulder. Children crowded around him, gifts appearing to their immediate delight. Quickly, the bag ran empty, each child having a gift, except the little girl. Hermione watched with delight as the Nutcracker appeared from the man's bag.

* * *

"Well done, my son," Lucius praised.

The last muggle remained.

"No…please," he mumbled, pushing himself into the corner of the stone cell. "Please…have mercy…"

Lucius smiled. "Take it slow with this one," he said.

Unthinkingly, Draco raised his wand.

"Crucio would do for a start," Lucius mused.

His father's words drifted through Draco's mind, and he obeyed, obeyed for he had no other option. The man screamed.

* * *

The Mouse King entered, dancers scattering in all directions as the music picked up tempo, playing into the suspense.

* * *

Back arched, the man twisted upon the stone floor, his vocal cords straining against the agony struggling to escape through his screams.

* * *

Hermione watched as Clara grabbed onto the Mouse King's tail, the both of them careening around the stage in a theatrical semblance of a struggle.

* * *

Narcissa watched as the man went insane, mumbling and screaming unintelligible words.

"Kill him."

Wand pointed at the man, Draco spoke the words, words that would bring death to the man.

The screams stopped, the man going limp as his body joined the grotesque pile of twisted and mutilated humans in the corner.

"Well done, Draco."

Draco let his arm fall to his side. He stared at the floor.

"You will now prove your worth, my son," he said.

* * *

In an elaborate and elegantly choreographed scene, the Nutcracker magically transformed into the Prince. The audience breathed sighs of astonishment as he danced across the stage.

* * *

"Narcissa," Lucius barked. "Come."

* * *

The curtain closed, marking the moment Clara fell asleep, to only reopen on a wintry landscape and the snowflake dancers, swathed in gauzy white.

* * *

"Lucius! No…please…" she pleaded, eyes wide and stricken with panic. "Please…don't do this to him…"

* * *

As the snowflakes greeted Clara and the Prince, a dozen sugar plum fairies twirl out onto the stage.

* * *

"Narcissa!"

* * *

Twirling and leaping, they circled the stage, Clara watching on in awe as the Prince stood beside her.

* * *

"No…I won't let you…"

* * *

Two dancers appeared next, the girl fluting a red layered skirt as she sashayed across the stage. The boy followed, making strong and boldly planned leaps to reach her.

* * *

Reaching out, Lucius grabbed his wife's arm, throwing her into the open cell. She fell to the floor and stared up with fearful apprehension.

* * *

The Grangers watched in rapt attention as the Spanish dancers exited the stage, five girls appearing. Dressed in a pale blue, they moved in fluid unison to the gentle music, scarves hanging from their hands.

* * *

"Prove that you are a Malfoy," Lucius demanded, staring down at Draco.

* * *

The music and lights dimmed momentarily. From the orchestra pit, the woodwinds suddenly picked up, prancing and dancing through their air as three dancers appeared on stage, stepping in time to the music.

* * *

"Please…please…" Tears marred the normally regal face. "He's your son…"

* * *

Russian dancers appeared next, a man and a woman taking their entrance. Dressed in intricately embroidered costumes, they danced back and forth, the music being their guide. As the music rose to a crescendo, the Sugar Plum Fairy appeared.

* * *

Draco raised his wand.

* * *

Hermione grinned, holding back a squeal of delight, as the Waltz of the Flowers began, the music flowing gently through the audience.

* * *

"Please…"

* * *

The curtains closed, the theater going dark for a brief moment.

* * *

"Prove your worth, boy!"

* * *

The lights reappeared, illuminating the stage and revealing to the audience that Clara and the Prince's journey into the Land of the Sugar Plum Fairies was simply a dream. Applause thundered through the theater as the last sweeping bars of music brought the production to a close.

* * *

Wand pointed at his mother, Draco opened his mouth and spoke.

* * *

The curtain closed on the dancers, the audience giving them a standing ovation. Hermione leapt to her feet, clapping her hands enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience. Curtains reopening, the entire cast stood on stage in one long line. Arms wrapped around the person beside them, they all bowed collectively, causing the thunderous applause to only rise in volume.

* * *

Narcissa, back arched off of the floor and, fingers clenching at thin air, screamed.

Lucius watched and smiled. "Well done, my son," he said. "You are truly a Malfoy."

He stared blankly at his mother.

His father looked down at him, regarding him coldly but with pride puffing out his chest as he pointed his wand at his son. "Finite Incantatum."

* * *

That night, Hermione lay in bed, her mind racing with the memories from earlier that day. A smile formed on her lips. Glancing out the window, she recalled for a moment that it had been days since she had last written to Draco, a response still missing. And she wondered if he was alright.

* * *

In Wiltshire, Draco lay numbly in bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. He cast his eyes out into the darkness, his heart pounding unnaturally quick. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, shaky breath. Images flashed across his mind, fuzzy in their recollection, and he clenched his jaw as tears fell from his cheeks. His insides felt deadened and his stomach turned unpleasantly as he recalled the previous day's events. And he forced himself to think of Hermione, the thought of anything else threatening to push him over the edge.

* * *

**Additional Note** - I would like to thank Wikipedia and YouTube for aiding in writing the Nutcracker scenes. And if you're wondering, yes, I cried when I wrote this.


	33. Licet Aspiro

**Author's Note – **I'm not quite as fond of this chapter as I am of others. It's rather short, and the next chapter is loads better. Oh well, it's a needed transition. At the end of this chapter are some answers to some questions I've gotten in reviews over the past few chapters. Oh, and review and let me know what you think!

**Another Note – **The title means, "Just Breath," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing, absolutely nothing.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Three**

"Licet Aspiro"

* * *

Steam billowed thickly in the air along Platform 9 ¾ as Hermione pushed her cart through the barrier, the Weasleys and Harry close behind her. The Christmas Holidays had ended, leaving behind merry, snow-covered dreams and clearing the path for knowledge and education. Students were ushered onto the Hogwarts Express, the tearful goodbyes and joyous elation at seeing old classmates dampened from what they tended to be at the start of the school year, this being merely the Christmas Holidays. Squeezing down the narrow corridor, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny searched for a suitable compartment, Ron having rudely pushed ahead of them earlier.

"Hi, Harry!" Neville sat in the last available compartment and smiled brightly as they entered.

"Hey, Neville," he answered, Hermione and Ginny offering their own greetings as they sat down across from Neville.

Luna occupied the seat beside Neville, her nose buried in the latest edition of the Quibbler, and her customary necklace of bottle corks strung around her neck. At their entry, she glanced up, her pale eyes hazy. "Hello," she said softly. "Did you see the family of Poddores standing near the barrier?" she asked, looking at Hermione.

"No, I didn't," Hermione said, shifting in her seat as she glanced out the window, the train slowly beginning to pull out of the station. Parents standing on the platform waved to their departing children, many then turning to disappear once again through the barrier, if not apparating away instantly.

"Of course," Luna said, shifting her head to the side as she smiled at Neville, "but they saw you."

Ginny, Harry, Neville, and Hermione glanced between themselves as Luna returned to her magazine, not sure if she were speaking to Hermione, Neville, or the both of them.

"Gran got me a subscription to The Daily Herbologist for Christmas," Neville said, holding up the magazine with a large picture of a Magical Venus Fly Trap on the cover he had been reading before the others joined him.

"That's great, Neville," Harry said, Ginny smiling beside him.

"It has all these great articles and an owl-order Magical Venus Fly Trap," he said, flipping the pages and holding up the magazine.

Hermione expressed her pleasure at Neville's excitement before extracting the book she had been reading on the car ride to the train station, _The Theory Behind: A Magical Analysis_, and opened it to her bookmarked page as she began reading.

Late morning passed gracefully into early afternoon, the tea trolley visiting at midday, their compartment filling with sweets and butterbeer. Quickly, candy wrappers scattered across the floor, the intermittent bottle cap dropped here and there. Hermione nibbled upon her own stash of Chocolate Frogs, bought with the money her mother had given her prior to her boarding the train.

Glancing out the window, she watched the passing scenery, chewing thoughtfully upon a Chocolate Frog. Images of a blond-haired, gray-eyed boy passed through her mind and she tore her eyes away from the window, gathering her remaining Chocolate Frogs into her hands.

"Where are you going?" Ginny glanced up from critiquing the Chocolate Frog cards splayed out across her lap.

"I'm going to…" she paused, glancing between the compartment occupants, hesitating in her words. "…check on a friend of mine."

"If you're going to go see Malfoy, then just say it," Harry mumbled.

"Um…"

"Harry," Ginny hissed, jabbing him with a quick and fierce glare, to which he sighed and looked away.

Of course, it was true; she just wished he hadn't said it in such a manner. Acceptance still seemed so far off.

Neville looked up from his magazine. "If he's your friend," he said quietly, almost hesitantly, "then you should go see him."

Hermione stared at Neville for a moment, the brown-haired boy simply returning her look with the faint vestiges of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She smiled. "Thank you, Neville," she said. "I'm glad some people are more accepting than others." She sent Harry a pointy glare.

Hand out-stretched, poised to push the compartment door open, Hermione paused as Luna spoke last.

"You are what he requires," she said softly, "what he needs most." Then, tilting her head, she smiled. "Tell Draco 'hi' for me."

Eyeing the blond-haired girl oddly, Hermione left the compartment. The corridor was fairly vacant, the odd student moving in one direction or another. Hermione quickly walked down the hall, glancing into each of the compartments, looking for the tell-tale head of white-blond hair belonging to her best friend. Halfway down the train, she caught sight of not a head of blond hair, but a head of red hair. It belonged to Ron, and she paused outside the door, hand reached out unconsciously for the door handle. Suddenly, his head shot up, blue eyes glaring in her direction. Her hand dropped, and she sighed, moving on.

Hermione found Draco sitting alone in a compartment nearly on the opposite end of the train. Entering, she stepped inside, a friendly smile and cheerful greeting at the ready. However, catching sight of Draco, Hermione paused, her mind backpedaling, trying to figure out why the mere sight of him caused all the alarm bells to go off in her head. For certainly, upon first glance, everything seemed in order. He sat quietly, gazing out at the passing snow-covered countryside, hair neatly combed, and robes in perfect arrangement upon his slender body. Yet, when Hermione quietly shut the compartment door and took a step towards him, she noticed several things.

First, and quite possibly the most startling, were his eyes. They weren't warm or cold, and nothing in regards to anger, sadness, fury, hopelessness, or any other emotion that tended to swim beneath his silver gaze was present. In fact, there was nothing, absolutely nothing within the depths of his eyes. It was as if he were a shell, an empty, vacant shell of a person. Hermione's heart dropped, and she sat down across from him, eyes full of worry.

"Draco?" she called out softly.

Nothing. Not even a twitch at the sound of his name.

She shifted upon the cushioned seat. "Draco, what's wrong?" she asked. "What's happened?"

Still nothing.

Her heart began to race, panic setting in. And then she saw the second thing that managed to startle her. His hands, his hands that shook, gripped something white, the form of it disintegrating as his fingers tore it methodically to shreds.

Slowly, she gently placed her hands upon his own, his own that were icy. Bits of white fluttered to the ground, whatever had been in his hand scattering to the carpeted floor. Hermione dragged her eyes up to his face, a great well of emotion building in her chest and pushing up her throat. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes.

"What happened?" she whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair that had fallen into his face, his face that was colored an ashen gray. "What did he do to you?"

Draco closed his eyes, the tremors that shook his hands traveling up his arms, his entire body beginning to shake. He continued to squeeze his eyes shut, lips pressed firmly closed as his jaw clenched against the emotion pushing to get out.

"Draco," she whispered, not letting go of his hands.

He continued to shake, and when he opened his eyes, the deadness had given away to such an intense array of emotions, Hermione felt ill. Shiny tears coated his eyes as desperation rained down upon his posture, and he opened his mouth to speak.

"I…" he croaked, his voice quivering.

Draco glanced down at where Hermione held his hands.

"He…" Cutting off again, he stared out the window and shook his head. "I…" He returned his eyes to Hermione. "I can't," he whispered.

"You can't what?"

Draco merely shook his head.

"Draco," she whispered, grasping his hand. "Please…"

He turned to her.

"Please talk to me."

Closing his eyes, squeezing them shut, he rested his forehead against the window, the chilled glass seeping into his skin. He took a deep breath and then began speaking, his voice barely a whisper.

"M-My father…he-he forced me…" Another shuddering breath. "I couldn't…I didn't want to…but he forced me…I had to…I had to…" His voice became panicky. "My…my mother…the muggles…I didn't want to…I didn't want to…" Draco turned to Hermione. "You…you have to believe me…I didn't want to…she's m-my mother…but…but he made me…"

Hermione sat beside him, sour waves of horror washing over her. "What did he make you do?" she asked quietly, hesitantly.

Draco shook his head, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "I didn't want to…please…please…I didn't want to," he cried, the tears spilling over his cheeks. "I couldn't…I couldn't though…"

Her heart pounded uncomfortably within her chest, and she scooted closer to him, her body pressing into his, trying to offer him whatever comfort she could. "Draco," she offered softly.

"He made me…I had no choice…but I didn't want to…" he babbled rapidly, barely a breath between the words.

"Shh…"

"She's my mother…I didn't want to…"

Grabbing the side of his face gently, Hermione rested her forehead against his own. "Calm down, love," she said. "Please, calm down."

He cried, sobs battling to escape his body, and he clutched onto her hand. "I couldn't…I-I-I c-couldn't…she's…I…" His breath hitched.

"Shh…" Hermione closed her eyes, aware of her own tears sliding down her face as she gently rubbed circles over his temples, his skin hot and slick from tears and over-run emotions.

"I…I didn't…I didn't want to…to…" He trailed off, leaning into her touch, leaning as if he needed it, as if it were his sole connection to reality.

"Shh…" she told him again, the softness of her voice finally seeming to reach him.

Taking several deep breaths, Draco tightened his grip on Hermione's hand. "I…she-she's my mother," he said slowly, his voice heavy. "I never…never wanted to hurt her…"

Her stomach turned. "Of course not."

"He made me, Hermione…I had no choice." Tilting his head up the slightest of degrees, he stared into her eyes. "He had me under Imperius…he made me tor…t-tor…"

"Slow down," she whispered.

"He…he made me…t-torture her," he said.

"Oh God," Hermione breathed, her hand coming to her mouth, blatant shock and disbelief flooding her eyes. "Oh my God, Draco."

"I didn't want to…you have to believe me…" He stared into her eyes, pleading for her to understand. "I didn't want to."

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands burying themselves in his hair. "Oh God," she said again. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

"I didn't want to kill them…the muggles…" He rested he head against her shoulder. "I didn't want to…I _knew_ I didn't want to…but I did…"

"It's not your fault."

"It was my wand," he said thickly.

Pulling away slightly, she stared at him in disbelief, which quickly turned to a stern look, her hands placed on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "You listen to me, Draco Malfoy, and you listen good," she began. "It was not your fault. You cannot think that; I will not let you."

Looking off to the side, he let a few tears fall as he fell silent.

"Draco," Hermione insisted.

He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly.

"Draco, look at me," she demanded.

Hesitantly, he drew his eyes back to Hermione's face.

"You cannot believe that this is your fault. You were under the Imperius…you had no control."

"But I still did it."

"But you had no control!"

"It was my wand."

"It was your father controlling you," she said urgently, needing him to understand. "It was not you…"

"Then why do I feel so responsible?"

Hermione sighed, picking herself up and plopping back down directly in his lap. "Because you're a good person with a soft heart." Gently, she placed her hand over where his heart would be. "Because your father violated your freedom…because you're a victim in all of this…" Reaching up, she brushed his hair out of his face. "You don't deserve this, Draco…nobody does." She again circled her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her. "Least of all, you."

Closing his eyes, Draco felt his shoulders slump as he leaned against Hermione, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Slowly, his arms snaked around her waist, and he simply let himself relax, the horrors from the previous holiday that had been tormenting him finally receding into the dark recesses of his mind.

Hermione settled herself in his lap, horrified and stunned at what he had experienced over the Christmas Holiday, but at the same time relieved that he came out of it relatively unscathed. Turning her head to the side to look out the window, huge flakes of snow swirling and whirling outside, she let her tears fall silently. They sat as such, unmoving for a length of time neither could distinguish. At some point in time, Hermione became aware of Draco's breathing evening out and the dead weight of his body leaning against her, and she tightened her grip upon the sleeping boy.

Eventually, the day faded into evening, the dim sunlight edging out as night began to fall. Students upon the Hogwarts Express began to stir, moving up and down the corridor as they changed into their uniforms and gathered their belongings. Hermione and Draco remained motionless, Draco in a state between asleep and awake as Hermione herself had dozed off. It was the opening of their compartment door that caused the both of them to stir.

"Hey, I thought I'd come and…"

Hermione looked up as Ginny stepped into the compartment, her red-headed friend pausing at the sight before her, her eyebrow raised in curious speculation.

"Hmm?" Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Hermione slid of Draco's lap and back onto the cushioned seat beside him. "Oh, we fell asleep."

"Right," Ginny said, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Draco glanced up at her before turning towards the window, choosing to stare out into the darkness as the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, only the swirling snow visible.

Glancing at Draco for a brief moment, she returned her attention to Ginny. "What was it you wanted?" she asked.

"I was just wondering where you'd gone," she said. "You were gone for a long time."

"Oh, well this is where I've been," she said, gesturing to the compartment.

"Right." Again, Ginny glanced at Draco, the blond-haired boy still staring out the window. "Is he…"

"Can you give me a moment, Ginny?" Hermione cut her off. "I'll meet you on the platform in a few minutes."

"Sure," her friend said before back out of the compartment and shutting the door.

With the door shut, Hermione turned to Draco, reaching for his hand. "Hey," she said. "Are you going to be ok?"

He glanced at her. "Yeah," he said. "You'd be best not to leave Weasley waiting."

Hermione paused. "Are you sure?"

He nodded and sent her a half-hearted smile.

Sighing, Hermione turned towards the compartment door and paused. "Draco…"

He, in turn, sighed. "I know," he said. "I know, Granger."

Smiling sadly, Hermione regarded him fondly. "You know I love you, right?"

Draco looked up at that, mouth slightly open as if he were to say something. "Yeah," he said after a quiet moment. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

**Yet Another Note – **Here's those answers to those questions you've asked.

**Why did Lucius make Draco torture and kill all those muggles and torture his mother? **There are two main reasons. First, Lucius feels he is loosing his grasp on Draco, and he needed to show Draco who was in control. Second, well, I can't exactly say because it'll give away something. Let's just say that it's going to be a catalyst for something that'll happen at the end of fifth year…and into the summer.

**Did Draco kill Narcissa? **No.

**Will Draco be ok? **As ok as one would be after experiencing that.

**What ever happened to the forum? **I dunno…it kinda died.

And quite possibly the most important question…

**When are they going to kiss?? **All in due time. However, I can tell you, and I'm sure you'll be pleased to know, that I just finished writing the kissing scene yesterday. Though keep in mind that I write 3-4 chapters ahead of what's posted. So, I have 33 chapters posted, but 3-4 more chapters written that nobody has read yet.


	34. Vitalis Est Saepe Durus

**Author's Note** – I present to you…the next chapter of Fire Dragon. Don't forget to review and make sure to read the important message below.

**Important Message** – This will be the last update of Fire Dragon for about the next month. My friend, Jen, and I have decided to do a July Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month). If you want to follow along with what I'm writing next month, you can at: niftynovelist(dot)livejournal(dot)com Don't put in the "www" or it won't work, and don't forget to replace the (dot) with a period. Drop in and say hi.

**Another Note** – The chapter title means "Life is Often Hardest," in Latin…very, very loose Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own anything…but considering this is my thirty-fourth disclaimer of this kind, I think we all know that.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

"Vitalis Est Saepe Durus"

* * *

Pain ripped through his body, shooting down his spine and reaching out to his limbs. It traveled fast, pulsing like a heart beat so quickly he barely had time to catch his breath before his back was arching and screams were ripping through him again.

Off in the distance, a woman screamed, a keening sound that melted into the walls and vibrated off his bones. Faces began revolving in his mind, ones he knew and ones he didn't, as voices shouted in his ear.

"You are a disgrace!"

"Malfoys are proud."

"He is your son."

"Draco."

And they faded in and out, the only constant being the pain twisting his body.

"Draco!"

Curse after curse was thrown upon him, mutilating, burning, and torturing.

"Oi! Draco!"

With a gasp rushing out of his mouth, Draco sat up, his chest heaving as trickles of sweat ran down his face. He took a moment to regain his bearings, the familiarity of his own bed, the sounds of his dorm mates waking and getting ready. Pushing the bed hangings aside, he swung his legs around the side of the bed.

Across the room, Crabbe looked up. "We're late."

And another day began.

* * *

"He's been acting so bloody weird lately."

"I tried owling him over the Holiday."

"You know what I heard?"

Draco absentmindedly swirled his spoon through his porridge, dead eyes watching as the cream he had poured into the bowl twisted into a swirl. Further down the table, he half listened to Pansy and Blaise whispering about him.

"Do you think…"

"What?"

"…well, that he's…"

"No, definitely not."

"Right, right."

"You know where his father stands with the Dark Lord. He wouldn't dare."

Sighing, Draco pushed the bowl away and stood from the table.

"I can bloody well hear you, you know," he spat as he swept past them, throwing a dark sneer their way.

Grinding his teeth together, he walked towards the doors as owls began swooping down. One in particular landed on his shoulder as he pushed through the giant doors. Growling, he reached up and ripped the letter from the owl's beak, dread growing in his stomach. However, smelling the faintly sweet perfume that seemed to coincide with his mother's letters, he relaxed and slid his finger beneath the wax seal. The customary _Approved_ sat in red ink in the upper corner, and giving the word a sneer, he held his thumb over the Malfoy family seal stamped beneath his mother's signature. The magic within the seal enacted, the words of the letter melding and shifting until the intended words were visible.

_Dearest Draco,_

_I write this with the events of the past Holiday in mind. First and foremost, love, you are not to blame. Fifteen years I have known you, and I know you will put blame on yourself, for it is in your nature. You must realize that the situation was out of your hands the moment your father cast the Imperius upon you. You must not blame yourself._

_Second, and quite possibly most important, you need to speak to somebody about what happened. And stop sneering, darling. That particular expression has never done your features justice._

Draco forced the sneer down that had appeared on his face at the suggestion his mother had made and rolled his eyes as he finished her letter.

_Anybody, Draco, talk to anybody. Even that female friend you have. And, yes, I know of her. I've known for a while. A mother always knows. _

_And now I fear I must finish this letter in haste for your father is inquiring as to my whereabouts. He is never to know of our correspondence, Draco. Destroy this letter once it is read._

_I love you,_

_Mother_

* * *

Midway through the week found Draco struggling through a four foot essay on the various uses of venom in healing potions. Books lay open on the table, strewn about haphazardly as he worked. Head resting on his hand, he flipped through _Advanced Potion Ingredients_. Glancing up, he caught a glance at the clock affixed to the library wall, sighed, and returned to his essay. Quill, dripping with ink, scribbled across the parchment, leaving a messy trail.

"Oh bugger."

Scowling, he crumpled up the ruined parchment, tossed it to the floor beside him, and grabbed a fresh sheet, starting all over again. Carefully dipping his quill into his ink pot again, he deftly wiped the tip against the rim, ridding the quill of any excess ink. Then, quill to parchment, he began scribbling across the page. Six inches down, he paused suddenly, rereading what he wrote. Sighing, he shook his head and disposed of the parchment in the same fashion as the one before it. Closing his eyes, he let his quill fall to the table as he slumped back in his seat, resting his head on the back of the chair. Bringing his hand to his face, his pinched the bridge of his nose and barely repressed another sigh as he pushed the awareness of his aching body from his mind. In the span of a mere few days, he knew all too well the effects of sleep deprivation, not that he would admit it.

Somewhere in the vast reaches of his conscious mind, he registered the shuffling of somebody approaching him and the sound of that same person taking the empty chair across the table. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he blearily watched as Hermione settled down across from him, her eyes trained upon his being, worry dancing between them.

"Draco," she called quietly.

Groaning, he closed his eyes.

"Draco, really, we need to talk about what happened," she said.

Sighing, he sat up. "No, we don't," he said, resuming work on his essay.

Reaching over, she grabbed his homework. "Yes, we do."

"Give that back," he demanded, though the usual force that typically resided behind those words was gone.

"No, not until you talk to me," she said.

He gave her a dry look. "I'm talking to you right now."

"You know that's not what I mean," she said, giving him a reproachable glare.

"Granger," he growled, "I don't want to talk about it."

"You have to."

"No," he said. "No, I don't."

He heard her sigh. "What happened was serious," she said. "If you won't talk to me, then at least talk to _somebody_."

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't need to talk to anybody," he said. "I'd rather just forget that it all happened."

"But it did happen," she insisted.

Dropping his head into his hand, he growled. "And you're not helping," he bit out. "I don't want to remember."

Silence.

"You're having nightmares, aren't you," she said quietly.

He looked up. "No," he said after a moment of hesitation.

"You haven't been sleeping," she said. "I can tell."

Choosing not to respond, he instead stared at the table.

"Draco…"

Hastily, Draco began packing up his things, shoving papers and books into his bag as he stood up.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Hermione asked slightly alarmed as she watched him.

"I said I didn't want to talk about this," he said, walking away.

Shooting out of her chair, she grabbed his arm before he moved barely two meters away. "Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away," she said. "Please, Draco, please talk to me."

Ripping his arm from her grasp, he walked away.

* * *

Later that day, before Potions, Hermione scribbled a note.

_We need to talk._

_-H_

Sighing, she folded the short parchment in half and placed it in the old desk drawer in their classroom. Glancing back at the desk, she bit her lip, hoping he would respond, and walked out of the room.

* * *

"Quiet, now is not the time for idle chatter," Professor Snape proclaimed as he strode into the dungeon classroom.

Almost instantly, the room became silent, students turning away from their friends and training their eyes forward.

"It is time to discern those who have been paying attention and doing their homework…" He swept his pitch-black eyes across the sea of green Slytherins. "…from those who lack all talent what so ever."

Hermione squirmed internally as Snape scrutinized the fifth-year Gryffindors. Beside her, Harry rolled his eyes and Neville paled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the table.

"Take out your books and turn to page three hundred and forty seven," he demanded, waving his wand at the blackboard. "The Pyrenees Triad, a series of potions that constitutes the building blocks of nearly every healing potion known to witch or wizard…"

Quickly grabbing her quill, Hermione scribbled down the messily written notes scrawled across the board. Suddenly, the door to the classroom opened and slammed shut. Pausing, she watched as Draco made his way to his seat, noting his disheveled hair and the dark bags beneath his eyes.

"…and others who will fail miserably…Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape looked up from his lecture. "Quickly take your seat this instant." A certain sharpness edged into the Potion Master's voice.

Hermione watched as Draco slumped into his seat beside Blaise. Shoulders slumped, he stared at the table, and remained as such until the class ended.

* * *

"It was the strangest thing," Neville muttered.

"I saw him after lunch," Ginny said next.

Harry gave a half-grimace. "You'd think he'd at least comb his hair."

Hermione stared blearily at the floor as she walked beside Luna and the rest of their ever-tightening group. Her stomach churned as her head ached with worry.

"He wasn't in Charms just now."

"You think he's gone mental?"

"Hasn't he always been a bit dodgy?"

"Harry…"

"What?"

Ginny glared at him, twirling her wand in her fingertips.

He eyed her wand. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

She merely raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, fine," he said, holding up his hands. "I admit he's not as bad as I initially thought he was…but that doesn't mean I have to like the bloke."

Rolling her eyes, Ginny put her wand away and looked to Hermione, who remained head down and lost in her own thoughts.

"Hermione?"

She looked up. "Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked softly.

Shaking her head, she returned her gaze to the floor.

"Something has happened," Luna spoke.

Eyeing the blond girl, she sighed and said nothing.

"Hermione," Harry tried next.

Again, her head shook, her brow furrowing.

Neville stepped closer to her. "We know it has to do with Draco," he said tentatively.

"He's not himself," Ginny said. "That in itself is obvious."

Sighing, Hermione stopped, bringing her hand up to rub her right temple where a particularly sensitive throbbing had begun moments earlier.

"It…it's not my place to say," she said, closing her eyes against her words.

"He's in trouble, grave trouble," Luna said, her words serious but her gaze hazy and lost. "He needs not enemies, but friends."

"Hermione," Ginny said. "If we're going to be his friends, then we have to help him."

Neville nodded as Luna smiled, Harry nodding after Ginny prodded him in the side.

"He's not going to want you all to know," she said.

"He doesn't exactly have a choice," Ginny said, propping one hand on her hip.

"It's not pleasant."

Harry snorted sardonically. "Nothing with him ever is."

Sighing, Hermione nodded. "Then we need to go somewhere where we won't be over heard."

* * *

After dinner, Hermione hurried up the three flights of stairs, dodging those that changed at the last minute. Bursting through the door leading to the small classroom on the fourth floor, she approached the old desk. Ripping the drawer open, her heart jumped as she spotted the small folded note sitting in the corner. However, her heart quickly sank as she read it.

_We need to talk_

_-H_

Pressing her lips together, she crumpled the note, turning her head to stare at the wall. Then, after a moment, she withdrew a clean bit of parchment from her bag.

_You can't keep running away from this. It won't go away. We __**need**__ to talk._

_-H_

Tossing the folded note into the drawer, she strode out of the classroom.

* * *

Two days later, Draco once again showed up to Potions late, his hair in disarray and his robes askew. Professor Snape rolled his eyes and sneered, but no points had yet been taken from Slytherin. During Charms, though he showed up, Hermione noted he failed to turn in his homework.

"I didn't do it," he had told Professor Flitwick.

"Didn't do it?" Flitwick asked incredulously.

"No."

That time Slytherin did loose points, landing Draco in detention.

Later that night, during dinner, the Gryffindors privy to Draco's situation watched as he barely touched his dinner.

"We need to help him," Ginny said.

"It's getting pathetic." Harry shook his head and returned to his kidney pie.

"I hate seeing him like this," Hermione said quietly, sensing tears nudging at her eyes.

"I think we need to tell someone," Neville said, poking through his food. "We can't handle this on our own."

Ginny nodded. "Dumbledore should know."

Hermione sighed. "I've tried that."

"When?"

She looked at Harry. "Last year when he came back from the Christmas Holidays with bruises."

"And what'd he say?" Ginny asked.

"That while he believed my allegations, Lucius holds a very influential position in the Ministry," she said.

"They'd never believe you."

Hermione shook her head. "No, they wouldn't."

"I think we should tell him anyways," Neville said. "At least let him know what's going on."

Ginny and Harry nodded as Hermione nibbled on her fingernail.

"He might be able to help."

* * *

"Thank you Professor Dumbledore for listening to us," Ginny said.

"It's an unfortunate tale that you have told," he said sadly.

"We need to help him," Hermione said.

The headmaster turned silent, appearing within thought, before speaking next. "You are aware of my ever worsening position in not only this school but the Ministry," he began. "Therefore, there is not much I can do at this moment." He paused. "However, you can do more for him at this moment that I can."

"How, Professor?" Hermione sat forward in her chair.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "By being his friend."

"We already knew that," Ginny said moments later after Professor Dumbledore had dismissed them.

"Maybe we need to take a more active role," Neville said, stepping onto the revolving staircase that would take them back down to the hallway outside the headmaster's office.

"We need to show him. He needs to know that there are people who love him," Hermione said, gripping the handrail as the stairs began to descend.

"This isn't going to be easy," Ginny said.

"He'll fight us the whole way," Harry said as the stairs ceased their movement and the gargoyle jumped out of the way.

"We have to try."

The four stopped suddenly, the words sticking in their mouth as Draco turned the corner and caught them exiting the headmaster's office. Expressions of guilt crossed their faces. Draco stared at all their faces before turning to Hermione.

"You told them," he accused harshly. "You bloody fucking told them!"

Mouth open, words failed to escape her mouth, and Draco became angrier.

"I trusted you. Hermione, I _trusted_ you," he said.

The tears that had been threatening to spill over her eyes finally trickled down her face. "You…you need help, Draco," she whispered.

"Don't tell me what I need," he said. "I don't need _anything_, least of all, _you_."

Turning, he left, leaving the four Gryffindors stunned, one on the road to heartbreak.

* * *

After their meeting with Professor Dumbledore, things only worsened. By the third week of January, Draco had stopped showing up to Potions all together, not to mention his absences in Charms and Transfiguration. It was when he failed to show up to breakfast and lunch, in addition to his morning classes, did Hermione finally decide that enough was enough.

"Honestly, this has gone too far," she declared, eyeing the Slytherin table.

"I agree," Ginny said.

Standing, Hermione grabbed her books and turned to leave.

"Where're you going?" Ginny asked.

"To find his sorry arse," she said.

Walking out of the Great Hall, she came to a halt as she discovered that she had no clue where he could be; and the only place she theorized he'd be was the one place where she wasn't welcome: the Slytherin dungeons. However, luck proved to be on her side that day as a single third-year Slytherin, one who just happened to be a DA member, waltzed into the Entrance Hall, heading for the Great Hall.

"_Stephano!_" she whispered as loudly as a whisper could be called as such.

He paused and eyed her questioningly as Hermione gestured to a shadowed alcove.

"What is it?" he asked hastily.

"I'm sure you've noticed the differences in Draco," she started.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he said. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Do you know where he is right now?"

"Possibly," he said. "Why do you need to know?"

Hermione sighed and looked away. "I need to know where he is."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Possibly." She returned her gaze to the shorter, younger boy.

"Is he in danger?"

Reluctantly, she nodded her head. "Yes."

"From whom?"

"Himself."

* * *

A large, unmarked span of stone wall sat before Hermione. Her eyes roved over the stones, noting the unnatural manner in which they had been laid. Glancing down at the slip of paper Stephano had given her, she once again looked at the wall.

"This must be it," she said. "_Boomslang skin_."

Silently, the wall moved, revealing the Slytherin Common Room, in all its dark-wood, green-upholstered glory. Sighing with trepidation, she entered, noting that the wall returned to its original position. Vacant as the common room was, she shivered, knowing if she were to be seen, even though she was Disillusioned, there would be serious consequences. Taking a deep breath, she moved through the room and up the stairs to the left, as previously directed by Stephano. The door in front of which she stopped was unmarked, except for a tiny, silver number five affixed to the wood. Turning the handle, she entered.

The room was dark, and once her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she noted five beds, one still occupied. Striding over to that bed, she stopped, her hands on her hips. Blond hair spilling onto the pillow, Draco lay on his side beneath the green bedding, knees pulled to his chest, and his nose buried in his blankets. For a moment, Hermione watched him sleep. Then, sighing, she stepped forward, the edge of the bed directly before her.

"Draco," she called, an edge to her voice.

Mumbling, he rolled over, turning his back towards her.

"Wake up." Reaching over, she grabbed his shoulder and gave it a firm shake. "Come on, get up."

"No…mmm, go 'way." Flipping onto his back, he cracked one eye open. "Granger?"

Quirking an eyebrow, she nodded. "Let's go, get up."

He frowned. "Go 'way."

"No, you need to get up."

Turning onto his side, he ignored her.

"Draco Malfoy, you get out of that bed this instant," she demanded, raising her voice.

Angrily, he turned to face her. "I said 'go away'," he seethed.

Holding her ground, she reached forward and grabbed his blankets. "No, you need to get out of bed and go to class," she said, ripping the bedding from his body.

Laying there in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, he snarled and snatched his sheets back from Hermione's hands. "Don't tell me what to do." Wrenching the covers over his head, he lay back down, facing away from his best friend.

"You have spent the past week like this. You don't go to class, you don't do your homework, and now you've stopped eating," she said harshly, hands poised on her hips.

Draco didn't answer.

"You can't let what your father did control you like this," she said in a softer tone.

More silence, though Hermione detected a distinctly smoky smell rising from his body.

"Draco," she said gently, leaning over him, catching sight of barely contained emotions running across his face.

When he next spoke, his voice was strained. "He has nothing to do with this," he said.

"He doesn't?" she asked, hardly convinced.

"No."

Sighing, she sat down beside him on his bed. "Then why are you doing this?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Draco, what happened was unfortunate, and what your father did was cruel," she said. "But you need to keep living."

"Unfortunate?" he cried, sitting up. "You think what happened was only unfortunate?"

She frowned. "Draco…"

"No," he yelled, leaning towards her. "You just don't understand. You weren't there. You didn't hear her screams."

Her face fell. "No, no I wasn't."

"No," he repeated. "You weren't. You have no right to say that."

"Maybe not, but I'm here now."

"And what does that mean?" he asked.

"I'm looking at what he's done to you," she said. "This isn't right, Draco."

Lying back down, he positioned his back towards Hermione. "I don't care anymore," he said morosely. "Why don't you just go away?"

"I'm not going anywhere until you get out of bed."

"Then you're going to be here all day," he said. "And Nott returns before Charms. He won't be pleased to see you here."

"Then you better get out of bed and take a shower," she said.

"No," he said like a petulant toddler.

"Either you get out of bed or I'll do it for you," she said.

"I'd like to see you try," he said.

"Fine," she said.

Stepping off the bed, she threw his blankets off his body, the covers landing on the floor.

Jerking his head around, he scowled at her, to which she simply raised an eyebrow, the expression a challenge. When he didn't move, she drew her wand and pointed it him.

"What?" he asked. "Are you going to hex me?"

"You want to find out?" she asked.

For a moment he said nothing. Then, with a great string of curses, he threw himself off the bed. "Fine, Granger," he said, heading into the bathroom. "You happy?"

Grinning, she nodded. "Very. And hurry up," she called after him. "We have Charms in twenty minutes."

Another grumble and he was gone, the sounds of water running and someone standing beneath the stream coming from the bathroom moments later. Satisfied, Hermione smiled to herself and began puttering around the room, straightening up the mess that surrounded Draco's bed. Glancing at his desk, she riffled through the parchments sitting beside a stack of textbooks, noting that half of his essays and homework assignments were either half-finished or barely started at all. Sighing to herself, she chose to ignore it for the moment and instead threw open the doors to his clothing armoire. Tossing a few random articles of clothing onto his bed, Hermione suddenly froze as heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs directly outside the room.

Quickly, she darted beneath Draco's bed, tapping her head at the same time with her wand, the eerie sensation of a Disillusionment charm falling upon her. The door opened, and somebody entered, muttering to himself.

"Bloody fucking cow…hope she rots…" Hermione managed to catch, recognizing the voice as belonging to Theodore Nott.

Holding her breath, she waited as he shuffled around the room, knocking things over and tossing things to the floor as he apparently searched for something.

In the bathroom, the shower turned off, and Hermione listened as Draco reentered the room, the steamy and billowing scent of freshly cleaned boy filling her nose.

"Nott," she heard him growl.

A pause. "Malfoy," Nott returned unkindly. "I see you've finally managed to remove your arse from that bed."

Another pause. "Nice to know you care," Draco retorted sarcastically as he spotted the clothes on his bed.

"More along the lines of 'observed'," he said.

"What ever suits you, Nott," Draco said, buttoning his shirt.

"You realize everybody's noticed your strange behavior," Nott suddenly said.

"I'm sure they have," Draco said smoothly.

"There are rumors."

"There are _always_ rumors."

"I've heard-"

"I don't bloody fucking care what you've heard."

"You should."

Swiftly, Draco crossed the room. "Have you forgotten who I am, Nott?" he threatened, his nose in Nott's face. "Have you forgotten what I'm capable of?"

Nott raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Might I remind you of third year?"

He paled.

"Exactly," Draco said. "Now, why don't you leave me alone, you pathetic little wanker?"

Another moment of silence crossed between the boys before Nott spoke. "I'll be watching you, Malfoy," he said, stalking to the door, slamming it behind him.

Sighing, Draco grumbled to himself.

"Granger," he then called out, glancing around the room.

Hermione shimmied out from beneath his bed, removing the charm. Getting to her feet, she brushed off her skirt and looked at Draco. "What was that all about?"

"It's none of your business," he said, rummaging through his things. "Where's my tie?"

"On your bed," she said.

Grabbing his green and silver tie, he quickly tied it around his neck. "Happy now?" he said when he was finished, holding out his hands mockingly.

"Yes. Now, let's go," she said, packing up his school things in his bag. "Charms starts in less than five minutes. If we hurry, we'll not be late."

He sighed. "Fine."

Grabbing his bag, he stomped out of his room after Hermione.


	35. Tu Nunquam Solus

**Author's Note - **Wooo, a chapter before July is finished! So, my July Nano kinda fizzled out halfway through. Therefore, you get this! Enjoy and don't forget to review.

**Another Note** – The title means "You're Never Alone" in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own anything…except the idea of the Ignius…don't steal it!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

"Tu Nunquam Solus"

* * *

He was tired, a bone-deep, aching type of tired. It was a type of tired that had nothing to do with sleep, though the lack of it certainly played a part. Everything had turned gray, reality muting itself, color bleeding out until all that remained was nothing, the absence of anything and everything, a vast, vacant space of nothing. Seemingly, nothing mattered anymore, his days passing in rapid blurs of motion and noise.

A hole was drilled through him, straight through him; he was sure of it. Right through his heart, it passed. A hand to his chest found real, live, warm flesh. But there was still nothing, nothing he could feel. Something was missing, everything was gone, and nothing was the same anymore. The chair beneath his body felt different, the lights in the library were, if possible, dimmer, and the parchment lying before him held no meaning anymore.

And even worse, the girl staring at him from across the table couldn't reach him anymore. A simple glance in her direction, a whiff of her shampoo, the sound of her voice brought up nothing when before they had emotions swirling through his being. Sad eyes stared at the off-white parchment, ink spots splattered across the page, the results of his quill clattering to the table.

And suddenly, a touch to his arm, a few choice words, and everything was back, leaving him gasping for a brief moment.

"Draco? Are you alright?"

Hermione watched the boy sitting across from her, watched his expression shift, watched the subtle drift of his hair as he tilted his head downward, and watched as he quietly extracted his arm from her touch.

She reached out again as he held his arms close to his body. "Draco?"

He met her eyes. "I'm fine," he replied softly, picking up his dropped quill. "Where were we?"

* * *

It had become habit for Hermione to check for any messages tucked in the drawer of classroom thirty-one twice a day, before breakfast and after dinner. While responses from Draco weren't as frequent as they used to be, it was those occasional notes with his characteristic slanted writing that gave her hope, hope that he wasn't too far gone, too lost in the shadows of depression. And it was this particular evening, as she checked the drawer, that she found two folded notes. Picking up the first, she scanned the two words printed upon the parchment.

_I guess._

_-DM_

Sighing and shaking her head, she reached for the second, instantly recognizing it as the note she had slipped in the drawer that morning.

_Everybody's meeting tonight after dinner in the new place. I hope you'll come. The password is Fairie Fyre_.

_-HG_

Crumpling both notes, she tossed them in the waste basket beside the desk, both pieces of parchment vanishing before hitting the bottom.

* * *

As Umbridge's hold over Hogwarts tightened, it became increasingly apparent that they needed a more secure place to meet, classroom thirty-one remaining solely a room to pass messages through. After an evening of debate and arguments, it had been settled, a new place had been found. In retrospect, there should have been neither debate nor an argument. For, surely, if the Room of Requirement was secure enough for the DA, it should be safe enough for a regular meeting place, not to mention the small benefit of the room shifting to meet their every need, desire, and whim. And such, the Room of Requirement had thus replaced classroom thirty-one.

And it was upon one particular evening after dinner that six students convened in the Room of Requirement, as what was quickly becoming typical. Unlike the vast cavernous room filled with defense books and equipment they used during the DA, the room was exceedingly different when they sought it out as a small group. Instead of stone floors dotted with cushions, there was a thick plush carpet in rich, red tones. Bookcases still lined the walls; however, they held a more diverse collection of research materials and a good-sized assortment of novels, magical and muggle. In place of the cushions, two over-stuffed couches sat before a large fireplace, a roaring fire constantly warming the room. Behind the couches, two tables adorned with enough chairs for all were pushed against the wall, perfect for studying or a game of Gobstones.

It was at these tables that they sat, a varying array of study materials spread across both tables. Hermione shifted in her seat, turning the page of _Numerology and Gramatica, _as Draco studied the Potions essay he had just finished. Eyes reading through the second paragraph, he sighed and looked up. Then, rubbing his eyes, he grabbed his quill, charming it to write in red, he began to fix a particularly horrendous sentence.

At the other end of the table, Ginny and Luna were nearly elbow-deep in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. A string of hushed whispers raced between the both of them as each scribbled upon a piece of parchment. Pausing briefly, Ginny stretched as Luna's eyes flicked about the room. They stopped upon the painting hanging above the fireplace, an oddly frozen portrait of a young girl, her features pixie-like and fragile-looking as blond hair spiraled down to her shoulders. Smiling, she pushed a strand of blond hair behind her hair and returned to taking notes.

Harry and Neville took the entire other table, books on defense, herbology, and the odd one on potions strewn about carelessly. However, these books had been temporarily shoved aside and a game of Gobstones set up in their place. On the brink of losing, Harry grimaced and scratched the back of his head as he studied the pieces. Hesitantly, he swiped up two purple stones and replaced each with green. Eyes wide, he watched the stones, and just as he sighed in relief that he hadn't lost, they bulged and sent a stream of yellow liquid heading in Harry's direction.

"Beat you again, mate," Neville said, scooping up the stones scattered on the table. "Up for another round?"

Face set with determination, Harry nodded, weighing the stones he still possessed. "You're on."

Back at the first table, Draco had had just about enough of essays, books, parchments, and general studying. His head hurt and his eyes throbbed with a combination of sleepless nights and a mountainous amount of schoolwork. Sighing, he sat back, and rubbing his eyes, he pushed his chair away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"I'm tired of studying," he said, wandering over to one bookshelf. Pulling a book from the shelf, he plopped down on one of the couches.

Giving him a momentary glance, she closed her books, rolled up her partially finished essays, and tucked her study schedule for OWLs she had made earlier that day into her bag. Walking over to the couch, she sat down beside him and looked over his shoulder at the book he had pulled from the shelves.

"_Mother Mary's Fables_?" she read.

He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye and shrugged. "I guess," he said.

Studying the current fable he had randomly turned to, her eyes were instantly drawn to the picture and she smiled. "He kinda looks like you," she said.

Looking at the magical photo of a winged man, he frowned. "No, he doesn't."

"Well," she scoffed playfully, "maybe in a few months."

"Maybe," he said sullenly, flipping the page to a new fable, a painting of fairies dancing around a grassy hill.

"So it'll be soon?" she asked hopefully.

He shrugged, not bothering to spare her a glance.

Pursing her lips, she glanced at him, lines of worry etching themselves between her eyes.

Draco glanced at her quickly from the corner of his eye. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"Ok," she whispered as he turned the page again, his action in haste, the page snapping as it was turned.

Propping his feet up on the table, he laid the book in his lap, one hand toying with the page while the other rested beside him.

Hermione glanced down at his hand, and reaching out, she took it into her own. His skin was smooth, warm to the touch, and shifted slightly as she intertwined her fingers with his. Gently, she ran the fingers of her other hand over the back of his hand and up his arm, the fine hair standing on end at her touch.

Tearing his eyes from the book, he watched as she ran her fingers slowly up and down his arm. The touch was comforting, something he rarely experienced from anybody that wasn't her. Her entire presence calmed him, slowing his heartbeat, untying the knot of emotions in his stomach, and making the racing thoughts that sped through the back of his brain slow down.

Sensing that he watched her, Hermione glanced up at him. "You ok?" she whispered.

He shrugged, not wanting to answer either way, as he rested his head on the back of the couch, his eyes still trained upon her.

Hermione watched him, studied the hollow shadows under his eyes that spoke of the trauma and unhappiness lurking in their depths. Her stomach clenched and she squeezed his hand.

"You know I love you," she said.

He stared at her, eyes blinking slowly, and he nodded slightly, the action an almost imperceptible movement. Then, shifting over, he rested his head again the side of her head, the book being propped up again in his lap. Hermione relaxed against him, his presence familiar, as they returned to the book of fables.

At the tables, Ginny and Luna paused in their note taking. Glancing across the room, Ginny watched Hermione and Draco on the couch.

"They're quite cozy," she said quietly to Luna.

The blond-haired girl turned her head. "It appears to be so."

Smirking, Ginny shook her head. "It took them long enough," she said.

Tilting her head to the side, she hummed musingly. "Not quite so," she said as her cloudy, blue eyes fogged over. "It is far more complicated than it may seem for he will be one with another, but that other has yet to be found."

Frowning, Ginny slowly turned back to Luna. Time spent as a group had broken the ice, so to speak, in regards to her nearly constant predictions that peppered her speech. However, her ability always had an uncanny ring to it.

"Complicated," Ginny said.

"Yes," Luna responded, gradually coming out of her trance. "That would appear to be so."

"How so?" she asked, peering curiously at the pair nearly on the verge of cuddling.

"It is uncertain, but it is the feathers that must come first," she said offhandedly, returning her eyes to their notes. "Have you found that passage on the Meadwump plant?"

Time passed slowly that night, the minutes rolling by with the speed of a cauldron warming on a fire. At a quarter to eight, Luna claimed fatigue, blaming a pod of Dormice hibernating in the walls, and retired. Ginny soon followed, which then reminded Neville of a scroll of unfinished Transfiguration homework left in the dorm, and he too left. And that then left Harry, tucked in the corner, his Potions essay laid out, and the beginnings of a revision taking place. He gathered his homework, crammed it into his bag, and stood from the table.

"Oi, curfew's about…"

It was then that he truly spotted the pair on the couch. Hermione and Draco had long since fallen asleep, their heads resting upon the other, and the book of fables having tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap. He paused for several long moments, sour feelings dwelling up from within him. An adversary would always be an adversary, no matter if he now stood upon your side. Then, hastily, he pushed those feeling down and left.

* * *

She awoke with a start. Blinking blearily around at her surroundings, she shot straight up and shook the sleeping boy beside her.

"Draco!" Getting to her feet, she cast her gaze around in panic. "Draco, get up."

"Mmm…what?" Rubbing his eyes, he peered crankily up at her from his slouched position on the couch.

Hermione worried her hands. "We fell asleep. Everybody's left."

"Obviously," he answered, closing his eyes.

"Wake up," she demanded.

"Just calm down."

Standing up, she hurried over to her bag, still lying beside her chair. "What time is it?" she asked, stooping to rummage around within it. "What if we missed curfew?"

Massaging his forehead, he sighed. "Granger, just calm down," he said.

"Oh Merlin." She looked up at him with wide eyes. "It's three in the morning."

Groaning, he sighed again, closing his eyes. "Which is a perfect reason to go back to sleep," he said.

"What are you doing!?" She rushed over, grabbed his arm, and pulled him up. "We have to get back to our dorms."

"Why?"

Pausing, she stared at him incredulously. "Because it's _three_ in the _morning_!"

"Exactly," he said, gesturing lazily. "A prime hour for Umbridge to be up and about."

Hermione halted. "But…"

"Let's just go back to sleep," he said, his tone edging upon pleading. Exhaustion tugged at his bones, an intensity that plagued him.

"But…" she reiterated, her eyes flicking between Draco and the couch, her mouth hanging open.

"Granger, we just spent the last six hours sleeping on this couch," he said wryly, an eyebrow quirked. "What's another three?"

Fingers toying with the untucked hem of her shirt, she stared at him for a moment. "Fine," she then said.

He rolled his eyes. "Finally."

Stretching out, one foot resting on the coffee table, he slung one arm over his head as the other hung over the edge of the couch. Crawling onto the couch, Hermione laid down beside him, her head resting on his chest. Sleep then began to drag down on her, making it known that the hour was only three past the start of morning. Closing her eyes, she let the heavy dredges of slumber claim her. And the last thing she was aware of as she fell asleep was Draco's arm coming to wrap around her and the natural way in which they fit together.

* * *

"Oi, pass the porridge!"

"You can clearly see that I'm not finished with it."

"Your bowl is filled already."

"You can wait."

Draco idly listened to the squabbling between Nott and Blaise a few chairs down from him as he stared at his own bowl of half-eaten porridge disinterestedly. Glancing at them, he watched as they tugged on the bowl, Pansy squealing out of the way. Claiming the bowl, Nott set it down beside him and just happened to glance up in Draco's direction.

"What are you looking at Malfoy?"

"Nothing of interest, Nott," he said coldly, his insides feeling as chilled as his words.

The other boy glowered, his eyes darkening, a challenging threat.

Sighing inwardly, Draco looked away, the growing unease towards his dormmates increasing as the year went on. Bonds had clearly been broken ages ago, the austere and prideful temperaments of the Slytherins not allowing resolution, not that Draco wished for any. As far as he was concerned, it was all for the better. However, no matter how his world crumbled around him, he still managed to keep a semi-intact reputation among his housemates. How, only Merlin knew.

Banishing his strain of thought, Draco finished his pumpkin juice and rose from the table, ignoring Blaise and Nott, now arguing over a platter of toast. Lazily strolling out of the Great Hall, he made his way through the Entrance Hall and paused, unable to tear his eyes from the wall filled with Educational Decrees. More had been added since the end of the Holidays.

_Students are to be dressed appropriately in school attire at all times. Weekends are to be exempt_, hung below, _Students are expected to be within their common rooms by eight each night unless otherwise directed by a Hogwarts professor._ Further down, _Hallways are to be used strictly for passing between rooms. Loitering students will be aptly disciplined, _was currently in the process of being affixed to the wall by Mr. Filch.

Sneering, Draco made his way up the staircases, passing a group of sullen Ravenclaws and waiting for one staircase to quit moving. However, before the stairs even had a chance to make its way to where Draco stood, a voice shouted from behind him.

"Malfoy!"

He turned and sighed, Theodore Nott following him from breakfast in the Great Hall.

"What is it, Nott?" he called out, already feeling irritated.

"I know you're holding a secret," he said, sneering at the blond boy as he came face to face with Draco.

"Really?" Draco drawled.

"Don't forget who I am," he said. "One owl, Malfoy, one owl."

He raised an eyebrow. "One owl?" he asked, his voice taunting.

Nott smirked. "Exactly, Malfoy," he said. "One owl…" He smirked with cruel pleasure. "…between you and your father."

Sighing, Draco turned. "Piss off," he said, walking away, the staircase miraculously staying put. He found it hard to care; though deep within himself, he knew he should care, knew Nott's threat was genuine. For who had been his childhood friend, whose father kept in contact with his, but Nott himself.

"One owl," he shouted after Draco. "One bloody, fucking owl."

Ignoring him, Draco continued on, his eyes vacant as was his face. He didn't care because he couldn't care; everything had been locked away, locked deep down, down where he couldn't, where he didn't want to reach.

* * *

The last week of January brought two more Educational Decrees, bringing the total to thirty. _Educational Decree #29 – Students are expected to maintain a state of absolute silence throughout all meals_, was instated due to a rather raucous round of the school song started by Fred and George during dinner one night after a particularly trying day. All might have turned out well if the twins hadn't chosen to stress certain lines over others.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," they had sung, breaking out into song and dance directly between helping themselves to heaping plates of kidney pie and washing it down with goblets of pumpkin juice.

Sashaying down between the tables, they serenaded the students and teachers, the students looking on with gaping jaws. However, it was when Lee Jordan climbed onto the Gryffindor table, one foot ankle deep in a bowl of mashed potatoes, and belted the next line, did the students finally begin to snicker.

"Teach us something, please." Arms held out towards Professor Umbridge, he made his way down the table, nearly shouting the words to the pink-adorned professor sitting rigidly straight in her chair.

The giggling from the students continued on through, "…whether we be old or bald…", "…our heads could do with filling…", and "…for now they're bare and full of air."

A pregnant pause, the Great Hall quieted in rapt attention.

Arms thrown above their heads, the three now standing directly before Professor Umbridge, they sang in unison, "So teach us things worth knowing…" Their voices strained with the volume at which they sang, their faces flushed with amusement.

The students screamed, many standing and clapping as the twins and Lee Jordan brought the song to a sweeping close. Afterwards, the silence that their performance brought had them smiling proudly. However, Umbridge was less than pleased; she was raving mad, the pink bow adorning her hair shaking with horror and rage. And thus was the creation of Educational Decree #29, and the end of the social life for the twins and Lee Jordan, for detentions packed every minute of their freetime, though they claimed that they didn't mind.

* * *

Professor Umbridge sat in her office after her morning classes, going through a few forms that she needed the professors at Hogwarts to fill out. Shifting in her overstuffed, pink, winged-back chair, she signed off on the forms and, with a wave of her wand, sent them magically flying to the various teachers throughout the castle. A smirk grew upon her lips as she set her wand down, pleasure in getting what she had wanted spreading through her. The smirk growing to a stretchy grin, she reached for her tea cup, but paused as a sudden crescendo of noise sounded from right outside her door. Frowning, she perked her ear and listened.

"No, no, we won't go!" somebody shouted.

"We will not be silenced!" soon followed.

And then, "Release the twins! Release the twins!" carried through her door soon after, sounding peculiarly like the twins themselves.

Annoyance and the initial bubblings of rage leapt up into her chest. Standing, she strode to the door and nearly ripped it from its enchanted hinges. The sight that met her eyes had her reeling as nearly a dozen students sat upon the stone floor in the corridor outside her office, the Weasley twins in their midst.

She saw red, and the next day, Mr. Filch was once again pulling out his ladder and nailing _Educational Decree #30 – There are to be no more than five students to a group. Anymore will be grounds for immediate consequences_ to the Entrance Hall wall. The next day also, by no coincidence, found twelve students sitting in detention after dinner.


	36. Vox Vocis In Prep Foris

**Author's Note – **Woo another chapter! I think you'll like this one…:wink wink nudge nudge:

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely, very loosely, means "A Voice to the Outside," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own anything except the idea of the Ignius. That was all me!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

"Vox Vocis In Prep Foris"

* * *

The rather sudden uprising of students at Hogwarts during the last week of January was not missed by the Daily Prophet. In fact, they had a field day, a special edition being released with the headline:

**HOGWARTS: OUT OF CONTROL?**

**Exclusive interview with Delores Umbridge, High Inquisitor and Ministry Liaison**

Similar headlines, and articles to match, followed, all focusing upon Albus Dumbledore's apparent lack of control over his students and the heroic and hard-working efforts of Delores Umbridge to bring the school back together. It was all rubbish, as anyone with half a brain and as much magical talent as a small child could discern. However, the Ministry was corrupt, the people they served were like sheep, and the world was spinning on its axis at an odd angle, had been for a long time, in fact.

But all these points, all the external conflict affixed to the wizarding world, didn't matter. For all that mattered existed in that very room where he sat, dare he say it, curled up in front of the fire with a book open on his lap. With the school in a whirlwind of turmoil, and the world following closely in its footsteps, Draco was oblivious to it all. Of course, he wasn't ignorant of its existence; a blind eye would not shelter one from the truth. However, life had taken him down his very own windswept path of hardship. And if he were being frank with himself, he needed a rest, a break from reality.

So, after dinner, on the fourth day of February, he quietly climbed the seven staircases, paced back and forth before the blank stretch of wall across from the wretched tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy exactly three times, and entered the wooden door that appeared. The room was dark at first, but a slight flick of his hand had three flames racing through the dark, alighting the fireplace in a roaring and crackling fire. Across from the fire, the over-stuffed chair called to him. And he relented, sinking into it, a sigh escaping his lips.

He needed peace, plain and simple. Peace from Nott, peace from the chaos happening within the walls of Hogwarts, and, most of all, peace from his own memories. And peace he got, curled before the fire, a muggle novel he didn't bother reading the title of splayed open in his lap.

And that was how Hermione found him an hour later as she strode into the Room of Requirement, OWLs study schedule and an armful of books tucked beneath her arm.

"Hey," she said, setting her things down on the low coffee table.

Draco craned his neck around. "Hey, Granger," he said.

"What are you reading?" she asked, gesturing as she took the chair across from him.

He frowned, looking at the cover. "The Secret Garden," he said, shrugging before placing the book on the ground.

Grinning with memories, Hermione reached over and picked up the book, flipping through it. "Oh, I love this book," she said and then looked at Draco. "What did you think?"

Shrugging, he stared at her. "It was ok," he said. "I wasn't paying any particular attention to the story."

She nodded, returning the book gently to the ground. Shifting in the chair, one leg being tossed over the chair's arm, Draco winced suddenly, his hand going to his neck.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, immediately concerned.

"Just sore," he said, digging his fingers into the muscles at the base of his neck.

Standing, she sat down on the couch. "Come here," she said, shifting sideways, one leg dangling over the edge.

"Why?" he asked.

"Just come here," she beckoned, patting the spot on the couch in front of her.

Sighing, he stood from the chair and plopped down before Hermione. Reaching up, she ran her hands down his neck, pressing her thumbs into the knotted up muscles. Draco groaned, dropping his chin to his chest as he closed his eyes.

"Why are you so sore?" she asked.

"I think it's my wings," he mumbled.

Hermione considered him thoughtfully. "It'll be soon, won't it?" she asked.

"A few weeks," he said, turning his head to stare into the fire. "Or a few days…I'm not sure."

"Would be helpful if you had another Ignius to talk to, huh?" she offered, pressing her thumbs into the muscles on either side of his spine, moving down his back.

"I guess," he said, groaning as she hit a particularly tender spot. "At least I'd know what to expect."

Hands returning to his neck, fingers combing through his hair, she studied him, noting the downcast tone of his voice. Something didn't settle as she wished it would have, and she found herself opening her mouth to speak.

"Draco-"

But he cut her off.

"Please, Granger, I know what you're going to say, and I just don't want to talk about it," he said, turning to look at her, his eyes pleading.

"And what exactly do you think I was going to say?" she asked.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "The same thing you always say," he said. "So, please…just don't…"

She frowned, dropping her hands in her lap. "I don't understand," she said. "This…this is kinda big."

"I know…I know, Granger." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And that's exactly the thing," he said, turning around to face her. "I don't quite fully understand either. Everything is just so confusing." He stared at her. "I don't know what to think."

Tilting her head to the side, she furrowed her brow. "Why don't you try?"

Once again, he sighed, his eyes being drawn to the flames. And then there was silence, long stretches where nothing was said. When Draco finally spoke, his words were quiet and hesitant.

"I'm not human, Granger," he said. "I'm different…I'm not like everyone else."

Hermione frowned, sensing his distress stemmed from a place that was much deeper, deeper than mere concern of one over others. She had a nagging suspicion that his confusion and reluctance were fronts for the fear that not being human would mean to his father. However, the expression on his face pulled on her emotions, and she didn't have the heart to bring up his father. "Draco, you've known that for months now," she said instead. "And I don't see anything wrong with being different."

"I've been able to hide it," he said. "When I have wings…I…"

"You won't be able to hide them?" she finished for him.

"I don't know…it seems so stupid…so trivial," he said.

"I don't think it is," she said.

He remained silent, head bowed as he stared at his hands.

"If it's bothering you this much," she said, "then it's not trivial…and it's certainly not stupid."

"I feel stupid."

"Draco," she said firmly, reaching for his hands. "You're the only known Ignius in existence. You're allowed to feel like this."

"You think so?" he said, glancing down at their intertwined fingers.

"Yes."

"I still feel stupid," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"Don't," she said.

He sighed, becoming lost in the flickering blaze again.

"Does your neck feel better?" she asked.

He looked at her. "Yeah," he said, nodding as he absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, as if testing for any remaining soreness. "Thanks."

She smiled as he once again sunk into his own thoughts.

A moment of silence passed, and then another. Giving him one last glance, Hermione reached over and grabbed her charms text, opening it to chapter seven, and began studying. Time passed, as it typically did, minute by minute. For nearly an hour, Hermione sat and studied as Draco gazed vacantly into the fire, the silence surrounding them companionable. Then, as if his thoughts had run their course, he tore his eyes from the flickering depths.

"Did you bring your Ancient Runes text?" he asked, peering at the dozen or so books stacked upon the table beside her.

"Yeah," she said, pushing aside a few books and reached for her bag. "It's in here somewhere."

More books came from her bag, all miniaturized to the size of a Chocolate Frog card, and all most likely charmed to be weightless. As the stack of tiny books grew upon the table, Draco's eyes widened.

"Jeez, Granger," he said. "Did you bring the whole library?"

She glanced up, her wand pointed at the book he had requested. "No," she said innocently, the book returning to its normal size. "OWLs are coming up," she said next. "You never know when you'll get a spare moment to study."

He smiled fondly, shaking his head.

"What?" she asked, handing him the book.

"Nothing, Granger," he said, taking the book.

Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized him. However, he effortlessly ignored her look and opened the book. Sighing, she returned to her own notes and the books scattered across the table and spilling onto the floor, unaware of the glances he stole when she wasn't paying attention.

* * *

As Hogwarts continued to spin out of control, students actively protesting the new decrees, the Daily Prophet kept in perfect step, a new article being published every day. The onslaught of slanderous material being constantly printed made it next to impossible for the truth to be known. On top of the Daily Prophet being corrupted, other Wizarding media fell victim, the weight of the Ministry's power proving to be not only controlling, but remarkably persuasive.

The first week of February, Witch Weekly featured a four page biography on Delores Umbridge, her face gracing the cover.

_Delores Umbridge has been known for her gracious generosity and long-standing patience in teaching the young wizards and witches of the next generation. "The children are our future," she said. "And I take pride in guiding them to be successful wizards and witches of our society."_

A day later, the Wizarding Wireless Network followed up with an exclusive expose and interview given by none other than Rita Skeeter, herself.

"_While education as a whole has been improving in the Wizarding Community worldwide, Hogwarts has been sorely lagging behind for decades,"_ Umbridge had said, her simpering tone being broadcast into every wizarding home hooked up to the WWN.

Six days later, a pamphlet titled, "An Extensive Look at Education: How We Measure Up to the Rest of the World," was published and distributed with the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Statistics, graphs, and tables filled the three page pamphlet, painting the progress of Hogwarts students sorely against other wizarding schools, specifically Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

"Where did they get these numbers?" Hermione had asked, flipping through the pages. "There are no sources." Glancing at the front and then the back, searching for something, anything, she shook her head when the only information to its site of distribution and publication were the words, "Ministry Issued," scripted at the very bottom.

Disgusted, she tossed the pamphlet down onto the table, the corner of it landing in a bowl of applesauce.

With the media crumbling, the public under the Ministry's deceitful lies, matters began to appear truly hopeless, the students' voices no longer being heard, let alone meaning anything. So, when Luna announced at the latest DA meeting that The Quibbler would love to hear the students' side of the story, they jumped on it.

"Daddy said The Quibbler would love to do an article from the students' perspective," she had said.

And, so, that found the students of Hogwarts, third year and older, waiting impatiently in the courtyard, bundled in their warmest cloaks on Valentine's Day. A certain degree of excitement stirred the air, a good deal of it being fed by the charmed cherubs fluttering throughout the courtyard, showering the students in shimmering hearts and golden confetti. However, in a few select hearts, an excitement stirred that had nothing to do with the poems one particular cherub was reciting from a long scroll.

Hermione waited patiently, unlike her peers around her, who chattered on with flushed faces and stamped their feet to fend off the blustery wind. However, when Professor Umbridge appeared in the stone archway, a thick, crocheted cloak falling upon her shoulders, the chaos came to an abrupt end. Students eyed her warily, shifting to form themselves into a rough line as she strode past them, her eyes sweeping over their heads, searching for wayward and unruly students. They paused upon a few select heads, mostly ones belonging to Gryffindor.

Harry shifted beneath her gaze, but he held strong, refusing to show her weakness. He'd be damned if she got the better of him that day, especially that day. When her eyes moved on, he quickly nudged Hermione. She met his eyes and he shoved a worn scrap of parchment and the stubbed end of a self-inking quill into her hand. Checking to make sure Umbridge had moved on, she glanced down at it.

_The Three Broomsticks, 12 o'clock_

Beneath the place and time, ten names were written, all but two crossed off. She crossed off hers with the quill and glanced at the last name.

_Draco Malfoy_

Nonchalantly, she glanced around, her eyes searching out the familiar head of blond hair, but not seeing him. Worry began to gnaw at her stomach as the minutes passed and there was still no sign of him.

"Alright, students, eyes up front," Umbridge announced mere moments before they were scheduled to depart. "Before we leave, I would like to review a few rules."

She glanced at Harry, pointing to Draco's name on the parchment, her eyebrows furrowed in question. He shrugged, keeping his eyes directed up front.

"As Hogwarts students, it is expected that each and every one of you will act accordingly. We are representing…"

Hermione hugged herself, shivering, and scanned the crowd again, her insides jittery with nerves.

"Students are to remain within the boundaries of Hogsmeade. Anybody caught outside the village…"

Glancing again at Harry, Hermione managed to catch Ginny's eye, subtly gesturing to the wrinkled parchment. Ginny bit her lip, shrugged, and turned back to Umbridge.

"The following establishments are to be off limits to all students: The Hog's Head Tavern, Zonko's Joke Shop…" Umbridge continued on, reading from a long scroll of parchment. "A list of banned places will be posted outside The Three Broomsticks…Mr. Malfoy!"

Her voice startled Hermione, and she jerked her head up, her eyes immediately being drawn to the boy lazily walking towards the group.

"Tardiness is inexcusable," she shouted, turning purple. "Explain yourself."

"I over slept," he drawled, hands in his pockets.

"That is no excuse, and it earns you a night of detention."

Hermione met his eye as he met hers.

"I apologize," he said, brushing past Hermione, a parchment being stuffed into his hand.

"Well, get in line," she said.

He obliged her request, reading the words scrawled onto the parchment. Closing his hand around the parchment, he glanced at Hermione, a sharp nod to his head informing her that he understood.

"What is that in your hand, Mr. Malfoy!?"

Jerking his head up, he stared wide-eyed as Umbridge rounded on him, her beady eyes bulging as were the buttons on her cloak. "Nothing," he said, focusing his mind on the crumpled parchment squeezed in the palm of his hand.

She grabbed for his hand, and he winced as one of her fingernails dug into his flesh. "Open your hand!"

Letting his fingers fall open, he looked at her with the barest tinges of defiance, for all that stood as evidence to her speculations was a scattering of what appeared to be dirt already being carried away with the wind. Umbridge's eyes narrowed, Draco wrenching his hand back, as she walked away with an annoyed and disappointed sniff.

* * *

At precisely a quarter to noon, ten students convened behind The Three Broomsticks. None of them wore their school uniforms, instead exchanging them for a variety of clothing choices. Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, the DA Core as they had begun to call themselves, stood before four other students from the DA. A drawing had occurred at the last DA meeting to determine the four students that would accompany the DA Core.

"Nice robes, Granger," Draco muttered under his breath.

She glanced up from where she stooped in the ankle-deep snow, searching for something in her bag. "Speak for yourself, Draco," she said, gesturing towards him.

"What?" he said, looking himself over.

Returning to her bag, she grinned, for there was absolutely nothing wrong with the expertly-tailored, black suit he wore, though it appeared slightly too large, hanging from his shoulders. Yet, the color contrasted with his skin and hair, the effect proving to be quite striking on him. Cheeks glowing a rosy shade, she withdrew ten tiny vials from her bag and stood up. Straightening her cloak, she took a look at herself and couldn't help but agree with his previous statement. Her outfit, if she had to pick just one word, was hideous. Neon purple was definitely not her color, nor should it be anybody's color. Luckily, the heavy cloak she wore over her robes concealed the worst aspects of her outfit.

"Do you have the potion?" Harry came to stand next to him, his clothes, though of high quality, hung off of his body, any clue to the human form hidden beneath folds of fabric.

"Yeah," she said, holding up the vials they had swiped from Snape's store room last night. Hopefully, the tiny amount they took would go unnoticed to his calculating eye.

Nodding, he turned to the other people standing in the tiny alley behind The Three Broomsticks, their clothing a mishmash of styles and qualities.

"Alright, each of you only has enough potion to last three-quarters of an hour," he said.

Hermione began handing out the vials, reading the tiny labels affixed to each one to guarantee each person got the right one.

"Remember, we're meeting with the reporter in small groups of no more than three. While you're waiting for your interview, blend in with the crowd, make yourself invisible. Umbridge will be roaming the village."

Nods and murmurs followed his directions, feet shifting in the powdery snow.

"You'll notice," Harry went on once everybody had their vial, "there is a lock of hair tied around the cork of your vial. Once you open your vial, add the hair to the potion and drink it right away." Uncorking his potion, he demonstrated by slipping the short, brown hair into the potion.

It bubbled and hissed, settling on a gentle shade of yellow, and then he promptly drank it. Where a skinny, black-haired boy had once been, now stood a robust fellow that filled out the clothing like Harry's body never would have.

Untying the wiry, black hair from her bottle, Hermione dropped it into the potion, watching as it reacted quite like Harry's did. Once it finished bubbling, the potion now an electric shade of purple with the consistency of water, she drank it. Hermione watched as her hands turned a creamy brown color, her fingers elongating and narrowing at the tips. Beside her, Draco grew in height, his aristocratic features dissolving to the mundane and ordinary ones of the man he shifted into.

Neville eyed his potion warily before downing it, shuddering as his body shortened. His characteristic plumpness melted into an almost sickly thinness, the hair on his head lightening and growing into a scraggly mane that matched the hole-ridden appeal of his clothing. He glanced at Harry, nodding all was well.

Following in suit, the rest of the group drank their potion. And within the next minute, a mismatched group of people were loitering in the back alley. With a quick nod of his head, Harry turned and lumbered away. Hermione followed, the rest dispersing in different directions.

* * *

Jessa Jorkenson sat in the back corner table in The Three Broomsticks, a mug of steaming pumpkin cider sitting beside her. Idly, she combed through her notes, her eyes scanning the crowd. It was while she was rereading the pamphlet the Ministry published on the declining quality of education that three women sat down across from her. The first was a tall woman with chocolate-colored skin wearing quite possibly the most obscene set of robes she had ever seen. Following her were two young women of similar height, though that was where the similarities ended. While one was thin and willowy, the other was just as round and fleshy.

"Ms. Jorkenson?" The first woman said, holding out her hand. "My name is Miranda Everwhite."

Jessa took the woman's hand. "I take it, you're The Core?" she asked.

"Half of it," she said, staring Jessa straight in the eye.

"Alright then, let us begin." With a wave of her wand, a privacy spell settled down around them. "You don't mind if I record this meeting, do you?" she asked, pulling a small magical sound recorder from her coat pocket.

"Not at all."

Flipping a switch on the device, a light lit up. "I would first like for you to state your true names," she said. "It'll be purely for reference purposes, and they will not be published."

The woman in the eccentric robes spoke first, "My name is Hermione Granger."

"Ginny Weasley," the thinner of the other two women stated.

The third woman smiled, the vacant appearance of the expression strange on the bulbous and reddened face. "Luna Lovegood," she said, the voice thick and rough, though it still managed to carry her characteristic whisper around the edges.

Jessa made a few notes. "Excellent," she said. "Shall we begin, then?"

* * *

To say that the interview with Jessa Jorkenson went well would be an understatement. Even words such as _splendid_ or _magnificent_ paled in comparison to the true nature of their interview. After the interview, each went their own way, focused on enjoying the rest of their Hogsmeade visit. With hope in her chest and a spring in her step, Hermione made her way to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"Hey, Hermione!"

Turning her head as she stepped into the store, she smiled at Ginny, who perused the rack of scented stationary.

"Hi, Ginny."

Ginny turned the rack, her fingers skimming over a few sheets of pink parchment. "What are you doing at one thirty?" she asked. "Harry and a bunch of us are meeting back at The Three Broomsticks…you know…" She leaned over, a smile on her lips. "…a small celebration of sorts."

Hermione smiled. "I'd love to," she said, picking over a few self-inking quills. "But I have a previous engagement." Her eyes slid to Ginny and back as she picked a black and red quill from the display.

Immediately, Ginny's eyebrows rose. "Oh, really?" she said, sniffing a purple sheet of parchment. "Oh, plum," she said to herself, adding the parchment to her stack, before looking at Hermione. "And who would this be with?"

Laughing, Hermione blushed, and then realizing her reaction, rubbed her cheeks. "Nobody," she said meekly.

Ginny snorted. "Yeah right."

Biting her lip, Hermione took her quills to the front counter, Ginny following behind her. Setting her quills on the counter, she dug her coin purse from her bag as the man at the counter rang up her purchase.

"So, who is it?" Ginny said, knowing fully well who it was.

"Ginny!"

"What?" the red head claimed innocently. "I'm curious."

"You're badgering."

Gasping with mocking indignation, Ginny placed a hand on her hip. "I am not!"

Handing the man five sickles, she glanced at her friend. "Alright, so you're not badgering," she said, accepting the paper bag containing her quills. "But you probably already know…in fact, I know you know." Hermione stepped to the side.

Setting her stack of parchment onto the counter, she idly ran her finger along some specialty quills set on display beside the cash register. "I do," she said, grinning. "I just wanted to see if you'd admit it yourself."

Crossing her arms, Hermione huffed in annoyance. "You are insufferable," she said.

"And you have a crush," Ginny said expertly.

"Will that be all, miss?"

Ginny glanced up. "No," she said, picking a hot pink quill from the display. "I'll take this too."

"I do not have a crush," Hermione hissed, leaning into Ginny's ear. "We are just friends."

"Honestly, Hermione, anybody with half a brain can see you two obviously have it bad for each other," Ginny said.

"That'll be six sickles," the man said, holding out his hand.

"And, really, this whole 'we're just friends' thing…" Ginny dropped six sickles into the man's hand. "…is getting rather old."

"Well, we are," she said lamely.

Grabbing her bag, Ginny headed for the door, Hermione at her heels.

"We are, Ginny!"

"If that's what you want to think," she said, pausing at the crossroads of the two main streets that ran through Hogsmeade. "Anyways, I have to make a quick stop before I head to The Three Broomsticks…you have fun." Grinning, she nudged Hermione before turning and heading into the crowd.

Sighing, Hermione stared up at the expanse of gray sky. It would surely snow before the day was through. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, letting it out before reopening her eyes.

She and Draco were just friends; they always had been.

Pausing, she let the sentiment wash over her. Oh, who was she kidding? Scuffing her foot in the boot-packed snow, she sighed. Ginny was right; she had it bad.

* * *

"Muggles celebrate Valentine's Day just as wizards and witches do," Hermione said as they walked through the lightly wooded area bordering Hogsmeade. They had spent nearly an hour at Madam Puddifoot's, talking about everything, yet nothing all at the same time. "They call it a Hallmark holiday."

"A Hallmark holiday?" he asked, frowning.

"There's a store in the muggle world called the Hallmark store," she explained, going on about the theory some people held that the popularity of certain holidays rang evenly with the productivity of the Hallmark stores.

"So, these stores, they sell cards?" he asked, the barest touch of red hinting along his cheeks.

Hermione glanced at him. "And candy and other little trinkets."

He nodded, fidgeting with his fingers as he glanced up at a flying cherub showering the both of them in pink hearts. Frowning, he batted at the tiny charmed sentiment. "Shoo, go away," he demanded, the winged cherub scowling at Draco before dumping a load of pink hearts directly upon his head and zipping away.

Hermione giggled, reaching up to brush the hearts from Draco's hair. She blushed as her fingers combed through the soft strands of his hair.

"I hate those things," he grumbled, swiping at his hair, untangling the hearts and dropping them to the ground, the hearts vanishing upon their own accord.

"They surely seem to like you, though," she said.

"Don't remind me," he said, glancing behind him as if checking to make sure the cherub had surely left him alone.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sounds of students romping around the small village muffled in the wooded area. Sunlight streamed down from the bare tree branches, sparkling upon the untouched snow covering the ground. The air held a crisp chill that reddened cheeks and bristled the spirit, though a warm enough cloak kept one warm.

Draco glanced at Hermione nervously, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around an object in his pocket. "I have something for you," he said suddenly.

Hermione glanced up at him. "You do?"

An unexplainable line of tension ran between them, pixies swarming in their stomachs as their faces reddening far more often than the chilly February weather would permit.

Draco grinned, handing her a purple box. "Happy Valentine's Day."

She grinned, taking the Dark Chocolate Frog. "How'd you find one of these?" she asked. "They discontinued them last year."

He shrugged, straightening the collar of his cloak. "I have my ways."

Hermione smiled, grabbing her bag. "I have something for you too," she said.

Eyebrows raised in interest, Draco watched as she rummaged through her bag, setting a small, clear bag into his hand. Small, multi-colored candies clinked softly against one another.

"I owled my mum a few weeks ago asking for some," she said.

He smiled widely, untying the ribbon. "I've been wanting some of these," he said.

The apples of her cheeks reddened as he popped a few Skittles in his mouth. "I know," she responded.

Hermione and Draco paused in the middle of a clearing, the ground covered in white and trees surrounding them. Over head, branches parted ways for an expanse of blue sky.

Draco reached for her hand. "Granger," he said, his tone growing somber.

"Yeah?"

"I…I've been wanting to say something," he said, hesitantly meeting her eyes before looking away.

"Yeah?" she repeated, his tone making the pixies in her stomach swirl.

Her heart pattered, and at that exact moment, it began to snow. Large, fluffy flakes drifted down from the sky, speckling the world in white.

"You're my best friend," he said. "But, really, you're more than that."

She stared at him, speechless in that moment. Her heart raced, her knees threatening to turn to jelly. And just as she opened her mouth to say something, his head dipped, and he kissed her.


	37. Tertius Promitto

**Author's Note – **Wooo! Another chapter. I love this chapter. And thanks for all the reviews for last chapter. Thirty four reviews for one chapter! This chapter is just as good as the last one. It's the chapter you've been waiting for. :wink wink:

**Another Note – **The title means, "The Third Promise," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I own nothing…except the idea of the Ignius. That, my dear friends, is all mine.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

"Tertius Promitto"

* * *

All Hermione could feel was the electricity surging down her spine, turning her knees to pudding. Then, reality hit with the force of a train, and she pushed him away.

"What are you doing?" she cried, one hand on his chest, keeping him at arm's length, the other on her lips.

"I thought that would be obvious," he said, confusion diffusing into his eyes as he looked at her.

"Why," she said. "Why would you do that?"

The over abundance of confusion turned into irritated anger. "I just kissed you, Granger," he said. "That's all you have to say?" His heart pattered almost painfully in his chest, but he didn't show the discomfort he felt because of it.

"You…you _kissed_ me," she said, mumbling the words almost to herself.

"Yes," he said. "I kissed you."

She looked up at him, accusation in her eyes. "How could you? How could you do that?"

He said nothing, just stared at the irate girl standing before him, her curly brown hair blowing angrily in the wind.

"Draco," she said, tears of either anger or sorrow, he couldn't tell which, forming in her eyes. "How could you do that?"

He opened his mouth. "I…I thought…you-" He stopped.

"I what?" she demanded.

It was as if he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything to explain himself. Why did he kiss her? Bloody hell, he knew why he kissed her; he'd known he wanted to kiss her for months now. But why now?

"I thought…" He tried again. "I thought you felt…"

"I felt what?" she said.

"That…"

"What?" she said again. "What is it that you're trying to say? Because I'd really like to know."

He sighed and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together. "I thought you felt as I did," he said. Opening his eyes, he looked at her.

Crossing her arms and hugging her body, she shifted and stared at the ground. "It isn't about how I feel, Draco," she said, glancing up at the trees surrounding them. "It isn't about feelings. I think you know how I feel." Finally, she looked at him.

"Then what is it?" he said.

"I think you know," she said, looking him directly in the eye.

He paused for a moment. "So that is what this is all about?" he said sharply.

Hermione sighed. "Draco…"

"No!" he shouted, the anger he'd felt earlier roaring up in him again. "No, you don't get to say anything!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"It's because I'm not human, isn't it?" he bit out, nearly seething.

"What?!" she cried. "No…"

"I thought you were my best friend."

"You have it…"

"How could you?"

"That's not how…"

"'Not about feelings…'"

"Draco…"

"Right load of sod that is…"

"Stop."

"No," he shouted.

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand…"

"Listen to me."

"I understand perfectly."

Suddenly, she grabbed him, his back hitting the tree behind him. Reaching up, she pressed her lips against his. The same electricity that had rushed through her body the first time made itself known the second. Her body tingled, her limbs weakened, and her stomach swelled with emotion. Pulling back, she looked into his gray eyes.

"This isn't about how I feel," she said. "And this isn't about how you're not human. It's about the fact that someday, when the time is right, you're going to find your bonded…and then where will I be?"

Draco looked away, unable to deny the truth in her words.

With her hand, she pulled his head down so he couldn't help but meet her eyes. "I don't want to be that girl, Draco," she said. "Please, I don't want to be that girl."

Quivering still with the effects of their last kiss, he stared at her, his hair falling into his eyes. "I wouldn't do that to you," he said quietly.

She let her hand, which had been clutching the fabric of his cloak, fall to her side as she looked away. "I don't think you'd have a choice."

Sighing, he pulled away and began walking back towards the shops and buildings.

"Draco…"

He stopped. "Just…just leave me alone, Granger," he said, and with barely a glance back at her, he disappeared back into Hogsmeade.

Left alone among the trees, she hugged herself, the toe of her boot scuffing the trampled snow in the small clearing. A lump formed in her throat, and she kicked at the powdery snow. No, she wouldn't cry; she wouldn't allow herself to cry over a boy. However, no matter how much she didn't want tears, tears welled in her eyes and ran down her face anyways. The trails they would leave would fade physically within the hour, but the marks they would make upon her heart would be etched there for days to come.

* * *

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Hermione turned and stared at Ginny, the red-haired girl perched upon the older girl's bed. Magazines were spread out around Ginny on one side of the bed while Hermione sat on an island amidst a sea of schoolbooks on the other side.

"What?" Hermione said quietly.

"You've been looked at that same page for the past ten minutes," Ginny said, flipping through a magazine as she munched on a piece of chocolate. "Potions isn't that interesting, is it?"

Sighing, Hermione pushed the text away and leaned back against the headrest of her bed. "I guess not," she said.

Tilting her head to the side, Ginny studied her friend. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Harry being a prat again?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said quietly.

"Got an A on your last Charms exam?"

"No."

"Lost your lucky quill?"

That managed to bring a small grin to Hermione's lips. "No," she said.

"Then what is it?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged, feeling unwilling to speak. Sighing, she glanced out the window at the quarter moon glowing in the sky. Shifting her eyes slightly to the right, she caught the soft glow from Hogsmeade that shone in the sky above the Forbidden Forest. The memory of Draco kissing her and their subsequent argument panged in her belly. Her heart hurt with the emotion it brought and the future it failed to promise.

"Is it…is it Draco?" Ginny gently ventured.

Hermione's eyes shot back to Ginny, her expression of surprise and sorrow.

"It is, isn't it?"

Pressing her lips together, Hermione glanced down, her fingers curling the edge of a page in her Potions text book.

"What happened?"

"He…he…" she began, but stopped as her lips tingled with the recollection of what had happened. Unconsciously, she drew her fingers to her lips.

Ginny watched as Hermione became lost in thought, her expression soft and wistful. However, what she said next were words cast in sharp tones.

"He _kissed_ me," she said. "He had the _bloody nerve_ to kiss me."

A curl of hair had fallen into her eyes, and Hermione sat upon the bed, glowering at the mussed up bedding.

"He kissed you?" Ginny asked, astonished.

"_Yes_," Hermione bit out.

"And this is a problem?"

"Obviously."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "And what, praytell, would this problem be?"

Aghast, Hermione stared, open-mouthed. "He kissed me!" she said, stressing each and every word.

"I thought this was what you wanted."

"I…" Hermione stopped, unable to form any more words as her mouth seemed stuck in a permanent open position.

"Honestly, you've been pining after him since the start of the school year."

Still, Hermione said nothing.

"It's rather obvious," Ginny said. "And, really, I'm surprised it's taken you two this long."

A word escaped. "You…"

"I would have thought you'd be shagging like bunnies by now."

Eyes bulging, Hermione leapt off the bed. "Ginny!"

"What?" her friend claimed innocently.

"I…you…"

Another quirk of the eyebrow.

"Humph." Crossing her arms, Hermione glared a hole in the floor.

"Hermione, really, what's the problem?"

"It's…"

"…complicated," Ginny finished.

Hermione glanced up.

"You've been saying that for months," she said. "I don't see the complication. You like him. He likes you, obviously. What more can there be?"

Sighing, Hermione sat back down, pushing a few books to the floor. "Lots more."

"Like…"

She looked away. "I can't say."

Ginny huffed. "Then how can I help?"

"Who said I needed help?" Hermione replied cattily.

Ginny paused. "You need help," she said. "Trust me."

"It's just…" Hermione sighed. "I want nothing more than to…to…"

"Than what?"

"You know…" Hermione said, toying with her blanket.

"No," Ginny said, impishly. "I don't."

"_Ginny_!"

"What?"

"I…I want…I want_ him._ I want not only his body, but his mind…his heart…his soul. Oh Merlin, I love him." Flopping back on the bed, Hermione stared at the ceiling. "I love him, Ginny. I love him so much…" Her voice cracked and she brought a hand up to her face. "…so much it hurts."

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said, pushing her magazines out of the way and scooting closer.

"Ginny, I love him…oh God, I love him."

"I know."

She took a deep breath and let it out all in one go. "I love him…I love my best friend…I love him more than anything…"

The tears returned, sliding down her temples as her hands tried half-heartedly to wipe them away.

"But I can't…I can't love him," she cried. "I can't love him because everything is so complicated. It would never work out."

"Why?" Ginny offered gently.

"Because…because…because he's practically betrothed," she said, that being the best she could explain his situation, their situation.

Ginny sat up straighter. "He's betrothed?"

"Yes…and no."

"Wait…so which is it?" she asked, confused. "Is he or is he not betrothed?"

"Ugh." Hermione rolled on to her side, her back to Ginny. "It's just all too complicated…"

"And that's what you keep saying…_why_ is it complicated, Hermione."

She sighed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Hermione…"

"_Please_, Ginny," Hermione said, looking over her shoulder. "Just leave me alone."

Ginny had a million things to say and double the questions. But the tears in her friend's eyes urged her to nod and collect her things. So, that was what she did. Scooping up her magazines and the candy scattered about the bed and the floor, she quietly _noxed_ the lights and closed the door.

Once alone, Hermione allowed herself to cry. And cry she did, in chest heaving sobs that soaked her pillow within moments.

* * *

Monday morning, just as Hermione had finished her bowl of oatmeal, she came across something peculiar in the Daily Prophet. Having buried her nose in the paper early on, an excellent distraction to the occurrences of Saturday's Hogsmeade visit, she had read through all the world's pertinent news and was beginning to work through a magical crossword puzzle when something caught her eye. Flipping the paper over, her eyes widened slightly at the tiny article printed in the lower left-hand corner.

**MUGGLES ATTACKED OUTSIDE LIVERPOOL**

Hermione scanned the article and frowned. Pushing the newspaper towards Harry, she pointed at the article.

"Does this seem strange to you?" she asked, the paper crowding his plate of breakfast.

Finished chewing, he grabbed the paper and read the article. Once read, he put the paper down and frowned. "Does this sound like…like what…what I think it does?" he asked quietly, glancing at her.

She nodded, reclaiming her paper. "I think so…except there was no mention of the dark mark. Do you think the Ministry is trying to hide something?"

Harry snorted. "Probably," he said, taking a drink of his pumpkin juice.

"And why is it on the back page?"

"Less noticeable."

"But wouldn't you think, with something like this, that it would be all over the front page?"

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to look up at the head table, his eyes cold as they landed upon Professor Umbridge. He remembered her crusade at the start of the year to smash any comment he may have had about the return of Lord Voldemort. Her ties to the Ministry were that of steel, and he wouldn't be surprised, if anything was being covered up, that she played at least some part in it. Then, to his immediate horror, her black eyes felt the pull of his own, and she turned and stared full on at him. A shiver went down his spine, and he hastily returned to his breakfast.

* * *

A day later, a special issue of The Quibbler was released, the front headline being on the topic of the Liverpool attack that the Daily Prophet had featured on their back page. Hermione read the story not once or twice, but three times, putting the details and facts to memory. That night, the evening edition of the Daily Prophet featured a special section on the prosperity of the Wizarding World. A message was inlaid into the words, sentences, paragraphs, and even the picture of Minister Fudge waving: nothing was out of order, everything was fine, and there was nothing the public should worry about.

* * *

It was the third week of February, particularly a Thursday afternoon, five days after the Hogsmeade visit, after the kiss and the subsequent conversation. And, likewise, it had been five days since Hermione had spoken to Draco, five days to dwell over her feelings, five days for the initial throb to turn into a burning ache that rooted itself firmly into her stomach. It ebbed and flowed throughout the day, peaking at night when all was quiet and dark, when her emotions would threaten to spill over her cheeks.

A heart is a fickle and fragile thing, she decided one night after a particularly trying day. When broken, it seemed as if the whole body crumbled. It all welled up inside her, and she was reluctant to accept it, accept that a boy had caused all this, a boy that hardly glanced at her let alone talk to her anymore. He seemed to fade back into the shadows again.

However, when it came to Draco and Hermione, it seemed the fates had a definite plan for them, no matter how illusive and secretive they may work, for on that particular Thursday afternoon, a folded note was shoved into her hand on her way to Arithmancy. Whirling around, she searched the students hurrying to class, hoping for a pair of gray eyes partially obscured by blond hair. Yet, nothing was found. Sighing, she opened the note.

_I think we need to talk. Meet me in the new place after dinner tonight._

_-DM_

Glancing up, she cast her eyes out over the heads of the students again, but still came up with nothing.

* * *

The fire flickered softly, as it always did in their hiding place, as Hermione waited. When the door opened with a soft click, a buzz of magic running through the room as the locks and enchantments disengaged, she spun around as he closed the door quietly behind himself. They walked towards each other, stopping within inches of the other, and simply stared at one another. Neither spoke, there being no words adequate enough to fill the moment. What could there be to say? Of course, there were endless things to say and discuss, the sole reason the two needed to meet, needed to talk. It was simply a matter of wills, neither knowing how to begin nor what to say, though it should have been obvious. However, when something was finally said, it was Draco who stepped forward, his words gentle.

"I never meant to hurt you; that was never my intention," he said.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the floor. "I know…" but that's as far as she got for, to her immense horror, tears welled up in her eyes.

"Hermione…"

She turned away. "I'm ok," she said hastily, wiping at her eyes, her actions in vain as more tears spilled henceforth.

"Hey," he said, reaching for her arm as she covered her face.

Pulled into a hug, her face still buried in her hands, Hermione dared not breathe in fear of the knot in her throat unraveling into sobs.

"Please, don't cry," he said.

"I'm not," she croaked.

"Yes you are."

"M'not," she mumbled.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of her head. Her arms circled his waist moments later, and in that second, he was content. But he knew, in reality, things were far from content. And for that reason, he pulled away.

"Granger, we really do need to talk," he said.

She nodded as she took a step away from him. He sat down on the couch, Hermione sitting down beside him. And for a few moments, neither said anything, each collecting their thoughts.

"I can't…I can't deny how I feel for you," Draco said, being the first to break the silence. "It's the only sure thing in my life right now." He paused, staring out the window at the gray, February day. A light drizzle that bordered upon sleet ran down the windows, warping the images of outside. "I try to live in the moment." He returned his eyes to her face. "I don't want to think about what happened in the past…or what's going to happen tomorrow…next week…next month…or next year…" He stopped again to look at her. "I just want to focus on the here and now, and…and, right now, that's you…it'll always be you."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth open, trying to form words that needed to be said. Her eyes gleamed with another wave of unshed tears. "Draco…" Emotion welled in her throat, and her voice grew thick. "I…I don't even know where to begin…"

Quietly, he watched her.

"I don't even know how to explain…how to say…" She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't even express to you how much…how much I love you." Her eyes peered desperately into his.

"I know the feeling," he remarked quietly.

"I've never felt like this…this is all so new to me," she said. "I want…I want…" She trailed off, the words gone.

"What do you want?"

Hermione looked away and then looked back. "You."

The emotion was evident in his eyes, in the openness in his face. "Then have me," he said. "If it's how you feel…then have me."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she brought a hand to her face. "How can you ask that of me?" she whispered, her tone strained as if in pain. "How can you ask that when…when you know what will come of it?"

"I ask because it's what I feel," he said.

"It's what I feel too," she said. "But you can't say that this'll be forever."

"No, perhaps not," he said. "But what about now?"

"What about now?" she asked hesitantly.

He stood up, grabbed her hands, and pulled her to her feet. "What about how we feel right now?" he said. "Doesn't now matter?"

"How can now matter when the future is so uncertain?" she asked.

"The future is always uncertain, Granger," he said. "That's what the future is…one uncertainty after another."

She had no words to say, only the tears that once again fell.

He stepped forward, gently taking her face into his hands, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "I can't help but get the notion that you think this will end in tragedy…that'll I'll simply drop you when I search for my bonded…"

Hermione remained silent, refusing to meet his eyes for she knew it was true. It was her greatest fear in that moment.

"I would hope you would know me better by now," he said, ducking down to search out her eyes. "Do you really think I'd do that to you?"

Finally, she met his eyes. "No," she said, her voice feeble and meek.

"I would _never_ do anything to hurt you, never in a million years," he said. "You know that, Hermione."

Closing her eyes, she swallowed the ball of emotion in her throat and rested her forehead against Draco's. "I'm scared," she said. "I know you'd never hurt me…but I'm still scared in how it'll all end."

"Don't be scared," he said, his hands combing through her curls. "You shouldn't have anything to fear…you know why?"

Opening her eyes, she stared directly into his own, his own silver eyes that sat just mere centimeters from her own. "No, why?"

Clenching his fist, he held it against his heart. "Because you're right here," he said, tapping his chest, "and you're not going anywhere."

The ball in her throat let loose, a repressed sob escaping from her throat. Taking her hands, he looped them around his neck. Then, pushing the hair out of her face, he dipped his head and kissed her, kissed her for a third time. While their first kiss proclaimed his love, and their second set about to prove her point, the third was something different; the third was a promise.


	38. Altera Fluctuatio Incumbo Novus Terra

**Author's Note – **Alright, here's another chapter. Before you go and read it, I need to explain the next two months or so. As many of you may know, NaNoWriMo is coming up in November and I will be absent for at least a month, which would mean no Fire Dragon updates. I hate doing that to you as much as you hate it. So, these past few weeks I've been writing like a freakazoid and I've written up through the end of fifth year (that's up to chapter 43) so I can keep posting during NaNo and after NaNo when I start planning the rest of Fire Dragon. The tentative schedule will be as such: Chapter 39 should be posted around October 31st and Chapter 40 should be posted around December 1st. Those dates are tentative; I'm not promising anything. As for Chapters 41-43, those will be determined at a later time. If you would like to follow along with my 2008 NaNoWriMo novel, information will be posted at the end of this chapter.

**Another Note – **The chapter title loosely means, "Second Wave Upon New Ground," in Latin. Oh, and there's some juicy foreshadowing at the end of this chapter!

**Disclaimer – **I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

"Altera Fluctuatio Incumbo Novus Terra"

* * *

In the days that followed, Draco and Hermione were blessed, truly and fortunately blessed. The few days after twin proclamations of their love they were able to sink into the blissful and rose-colored existence of a new found flood of emotions. The pair spent more time together than they ever had, stealing moments between classes for a quick snog in the broom cupboards, glances exchanged in secret when they passed in the hallways, hands reaching out, fingers brushing together, evenings spent in the Room of Requirement, and mornings devoted to the thought of the other.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Hermione said one afternoon between Ancient Runes and Potions.

"Why?" Draco asked, taking a moment to pause in trailing kisses down the side of her neck.

"I don't know," she murmured, grinning as she angled her neck to the side. "I've never imagined myself snogging a boy in a broom cupboard."

He paused, a wry grin plastered across his face, a grin Hermione would have blushed at if either were able to see in the dark cupboard. "Until now," he said.

She giggled, leaning into his body. "Yes, until now," she said.

For a mere few days, time stood still for Draco and Hermione, the fates providing them kindness in a stretch of time void of chaos. The attraction between the two soared, emotions and desires mixing together. However, as with the nature of life, the good can't be had without the bad. And just as Draco and Hermione had begun to settle into the idea of a relationship, everything around them changed, threatening to crumble.

* * *

Sunday marked the first day of March, that Sunday being nearly two weeks since the DA Core had been interviewed by Jessa Jorkenson of the Quibbler. Breakfast commenced in it's usual fashion, a silent affair only broken by the intermittent clatter of silverware, thanks to Educational Decree #29, one of thirty decrees that was bent upon bringing about change. Halfway through the meal, as was customary, the post owls soared into the Great Hall, everything from letters and small packages to newspapers and magazines gripped in their beaks. And it was precisely that moment, in the whirlwind of post delivery, that everything erupted.

"WHAT IS THIS?"

Professor Umbridge stood from her chair, pushing away from the table, the chair clattering to the ground, a balled up newspaper clutched in her. The entirety of the student population stopped, turning to watch as Umbridge shook with rage as more owls, newspapers held in their beaks, streamed into the Great Hall. Hoards of owls, entire flocks appeared, newspapers dropping to the tables below. Stomping around the Head Table, Umbridge waddled between the tables, reaching up and attempting to snatch the papers falling midair.

"STOP! _Stop this instant_," she screeched, her fleshy face turning a deep shade of puce. "Stop!"

Students watched on, a mixture of amusement and horror showing on their faces. The newspapers landed on the tables, great piles of them gathering in dishes of porridge and platters of buttered toast. Reaching over, students went to read the front page, looking at the huge picture blazing beneath the headline, only to have Umbridge rip it out of their hands, her screeching voice deafening as she tore the papers to shreds.

"I order this to _**stop**_," she screamed.

At the Gryffindor table, the students grabbed a paper before they could be blasted away by Umbridge, her wand methodically vaporizing the papers still being delivered. Hermione unrolled her own paper, a grin quickly hidden behind her hand as she read the headline.

**THE TRUTH BEHIND ALL THE LIES – What Really Has Been Going On At Hogwarts?**

By: Jessa Jorkenson

Beneath the headline, an oversized photo of Professor Umbridge sat, her engorged body filling up the space. Though silent, the photo of their professor spouted and raged, spittle flying from her mouth. Hermione glanced down the table at Colin Creevy, the boy returning her glance, and slid him an appreciative smile for the photo.

"I want to know who's responsible," Umbridge went on. "I know it was one of you."

She paced between the tables, her beady eyes combing through the students. Reaching the Gryffindor table, she paused as she came across the DA Core, her eyes scrutinizing the innocent looks on their faces.

"I will find out."

Jaw clenched together, her massive double chins wobbling, she glanced up at the Head Table and the empty chair Professor Dumbledore typically occupied. A week ago, he had been urgently called away from Hogwarts, the professors and staff claiming he had personal business to attend to. However, when another article had appeared the next day on the back page of the Daily Prophet, its headline reporting of a rash of muggle killings, Hermione had put the pieces together.

"The Order," she had whispered to Harry. "I bet that's where he is."

However, currently, it seemed his presence was needed more at Hogwarts. Umbridge turned in a slow circle, eyeing the students and the professors, accusation in her eyes. Professor McGonagall, standing in for Dumbledore in his absence, stood from the table.

"Delores, calm down," she said.

Umbridge spun to face McGonagall. "_Calm down?!_ You want me to _calm down?_"

"You are making a scene," she said. "Why don't you sit back down, finish your breakfast, and prepare for your first class?"

"I don't care if I'm making a scene," Umbridge shouted, her pink headband skewing to the side as she shook her head. "I want to know who is responsible for _this_." Holding up the crumpled paper, she wove it about, the shredded ends breaking apart and drifting to the ground.

"You do not know if a student is even responsible," McGonagall said, shaking her head, trying to sink any reasoning into Umbridge's head.

"Of course they're responsible."

"Delores…"

The bell rang, the students rising.

"NO," Umbridge shouted, casting her pointed finger out to them. "You sit back down. I am not finished."

The students froze, books halfway-crammed into bags and last bits of toast mid-chew.

"Delores, it is time for classes," McGonagall said. "You can not keep them."

"No…_**NO**_," she screamed, spinning around again, pointing her finger at random students. "_**Sit…back…down**_."

Slowly, the students complied, eyes shifting between Umbridge and McGonagall.

"Delores, why don't you take the morning off," she suggested. "We'll meet in my office and talk over tea."

"And how will that help in figuring out who is responsible for this filth?" The paper crunched in protest to her clamping fingers, ink smudging.

"We will discuss this in my office," McGonagall insisted, her voice harsh and insistent. Then, with a flick of her head, she nodded to the students, a nonverbal dismissal. "You may head to your next class."

Hesitantly, the students stood from the tables and headed for the doors, eyes glancing back at the scene that continued onward in hushed whispers.

* * *

All students who had DADA that morning were blessed with an open study period, celebration and cheers resonating up and down the corridors, Umbridge be damned. While the students rejoiced, a general uplifting feeling drifting through the school, something that had been sorely lacking in the past two months, the DA Core took note of other certain key factors throughout the day, the most notable being visitors to the school.

"That's the head of the education department," Hermione whispered on their way to Charms as a middle-aged man passed, his nose sticking straight up in the air.

Later that morning, after Charms, they caught sight of Professor McGonagall striding angrily through the halls, her pinched face turned into an irate scowl. After dinner, things became apparent that everything at Hogwarts would change when the Daily Prophet issued a special evening edition.

**DUMBLEDORE'S ABSENSE SPURS STUDENT UPRISING: IMMINENT SUSPENSION ON THE HORIZON**

Umbridge sat smugly in Dumbledore's chair, her eyes scrunched in satisfaction as the evening issue was distributed to all students. The head of the Education Department had issued a decree of his own, Umbridge personally overseeing its addition to the others hanging in the Entrance Hall. And there it hung, beside _Educational Decree # 31 - The Quibbler is here by after banned from Hogwarts. Possession of The Quibbler is an expulsion offence_.

_**Educational Decree #32 – As declared by the head of the Educational Department, Delores Umbridge is here by instated as Headmistress of Hogwarts in the absence of Albus Dumbledore.**_

* * *

It was after this last decree that things at Hogwarts began a steep decline into the depths of an existence ruled over by a Ministry tyrant. The very first thing Umbridge did after being appointed position as Headmistress was ransack Dumbledore's office, boxes and crates of whirly-gigging contraptions being confiscated as Umbridge watched on with a smug smile. And as this happened, McGonagall looked upon with a grim tightening of her lips.

After claiming Dumbledore's office as her own, a list of Rules and Regulations was posted in the Entrance Hall beside the wall of Educational Decrees, a list of required behaviors and practices required of the students of Hogwarts by the new Headmistress. This was her kingdom and she'd be damned if she allowed a bunch of children to run it. Delores Umbridge was going to show them who was in charge. They would obey; she would make sure of it.

* * *

"Alright," Hermione said. "The six uses for bubotuber pus."

Harry flipped through his Potions textbook, teeth nibbling on his lower lip. "Um…it's used in skin care potions, and…"

The six friends sat around the low table in front of the fire in their hidden room one Saturday afternoon a mere few days after Umbridge's instatement as Headmistress. Books and notes were spread out all around them, Hermione's OWLs study schedule front and center.

Grumbling to himself, Harry nearly tore the book apart.

Sitting on the other couch, Neville calmly paged through his Potions book. "Look on page sixteen, Harry," he said.

Flipping to the front of the book, Harry scanned the text on page sixteen, scowled, and tossed the book onto the table, it landing in a jumbled heap.

"Harry…" Hermione reached out and fixed the book, smoothing its pages.

Draco sat beside Hermione, his mind anywhere except on schoolwork, studying, or OWLs. His mind wound through the memories from a few days prior, a grin appearing on his face at the thought of a broom cupboard. Then, without warning, an arc of pain burned down his spine. Muffling a gasp, Draco shifted, reaching a hand back to massage his back, a grimace on his face. Hermione glanced over at him as she lectured Harry on the importance of studying and organized note taking. Meeting her look, he nodded slightly, the pain diminishing as he relaxed back into the couch.

The sight of the DA Core lounging in their hidden room in the Room of Requirement wasn't an unusual sight, the six friends typically making their way up to the seventh floor at some point each evening, seeking the stability and solace of each other and a place where Umbridge's pink painted claws hadn't reached. And like clockwork, one would find them each evening clustered around the tables or spread out on the couches in front of the fire.

However, on this particular evening, a message would bring not only relief but hope.

The hour bordered curfew, minds tired from studying but bodies still not ready to retire. An impromptu game of Exploding Snap between Luna and Neville was underway at one end of the table, Harry and Ginny watching on as Hermione and Draco occupied one of the chairs sitting before the fire, talking quietly with the other. Minds wrapped up in the present, when the flash of flames appeared above the door, Fawkes' trilling cry sailing through the room, six heads turned.

"It's Fawkes!" Ginny leapt up, Harry following.

"You think it's from Dumbledore?" Neville followed, Luna at his heels.

"He speaks from far away, but he's near, always near," Luna muttered.

"He has a note," Hermione said, grabbing Draco hand.

Harry reached up, Fawkes landing on his outstretched arm. Stroking the phoenix's head, he untied the note fixed to Fawkes' leg. Unrolling the parchment, he read.

_To the DA Core,_

_I hope this letter finds all of you well and still fighting. My absence has been a pleasant surprise for the Ministry, but I assure you, all is well where I currently am. However, rest assured, Hogwarts will not fall for it is strong. Let it help you. I will be in touch. Fawkes has agreed to be of aid._

_Sincerely,_

_AD_

"Huh?" Ginny grabbed the note from Harry's hand. "That makes no sense."

"Let me see," Draco said, reaching out for the letter.

Ginny handed it over, Draco taking it, studying the parchment, turning it over as if looking for a secret message.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione took the letter from Draco. "Can't you see? There's a message," she said.

"Where?" Harry asked, looking over her shoulder.

"He wants us to fight," she said.

"Fight Umbridge?"

"Who else?" she said.

"We have to be strong," Neville spoke up. "He wants us to be strong…"

"And to trust in the school," Ginny said.

Harry nodded, a smile forming on his lips. "We're his army."

"At least until he gets back," Draco said.

At this, Luna smiled. "Oh, he'll be back."

* * *

One Wednesday evening, Draco received a letter. Arriving in the care of the black eagle owl that belonged to his father, Draco let out a sigh. Over the course of two months, Draco had been delivered exactly thirteen letters from his father, only three having been opened. That day, however, was to be different. Call it random, call it a testimony to torturing himself, or call it something entirely different due to the smirk currently upon Nott's face, but that day Draco opened it.

Upon opening, Draco merely scanned the letter, choosing to not pay enough attention for the written words to have any sort of effect upon him.

_…your lack of subsequent responses to these letters…apparent you have been dismissing my words…_

_…Professor Umbridge and myself have been in contact…_

_…disrespectful…a disgrace to this family…_

_…Julius Nott has been sharing some interesting stories his son has been passing on…_

_…and I believe he's in your year…_

_…the Dark Lord still awaits, Draco…_

_…he is not a patient man…_

And that was enough, just enough to get a general idea of the degree of rage to which ran through his father. Crumpling the letter in his hand, as he had done with the others, he let the heat consume the parchment until it no longer existed. Then, standing, Draco left the table, his strides quick and annoyed, all to aware of the snide comments coming from his table, the voice all to similar to Nott's.

"Draco Malfoy!"

He froze midstep at the voice coming from the Head Table, eyes going wide for a split second before consciously composing himself. Slowly, he turned.

"Where do you think you are going? This meal is not finished," Umbridge declared.

Draco gritted his teeth, damning the list of Rules and Regulations. "Nowhere, Headmistress," he bit out, turning to return to the table.

"I thought so," she said, sitting back down.

Grumbling to himself, he sat back down, picking at his plate of kidney pie as Nott whispered to Blaise, their paired laughter and sneering not only ignored by Draco but looked over by Umbridge as she carefully monitored the other three tables. She surveyed the students eating dinner, her carefully observant eyes roaming over the four tables, approval shining in her eyes when she passed over the Slytherin table while the other three tables caused her to narrow her eyes. She was sure they had been planning something, as sure of it as she was sure her next shipment of pink cardigans would arrive early next week. Black eyes scrutinized the Gryffindor table, searching for any hint that anything disruptive was in the process of happening. And then, in the middle of their table, she spotted it, the perfect opportunity!

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione, who had been leaning over the table to whisper something to Harry, froze, her eyes wide and trained upon the Headmistress.

"Stand up," Umbridge demanded.

She complied, her eyes darting through the Great Hall, pausing upon Draco before settling upon the Headmistress.

"State Educational Decree Number Twenty Nine," she said.

Hermione licked her lips. "Educational Decree Number Twenty Nine states that…that…" She trailed off, her heart jittering in her chest.

"Yes, go on, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, tilting her head and smiling condescendingly.

Taking a deep breath, she stared straight ahead. "It states that students are to maintain absolute silence during meals," she said.

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, Headmistress," she said, addressing Umbridge as Rule and Regulation #5 instructed her to.

"And what, precisely, were you doing just now?"

Fidgeting, Hermione glanced at Harry and then back at Umbridge. "Nothing," she said, the merest tinges of defiance appearing in her voice.

"Nothing? You were doing nothing?"

"Yes, Headmistress."

"So, you weren't just conversing with Mr. Potter during a meal?" she asked.

"No."

Umbridge raised her eyebrows, pleasure twisting a thin smile on her face. "No what?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "No, Headmistress."

"Much better," she simpered.

Blinking, Hermione clenched her fists.

"Now, if you will, read Rule and Regulation Number Thirteen," she instructed, gesturing to the copy of the Rules and Regulations affixed to the wall behind the Head Table, a large and imposing portrait of Headmistress Umbridge sitting above it.

"Dishonesty is dishonorable," she read.

"Exactly, my dear," she said. "Now, is there a problem with the rules and decrees I have set into place?"

"No, Headmistress."

Umbridge paused, tilting her head to the side to study the girl. Hermione forced down the urge to fidget, standing ramrod-straight as she stared directly ahead. There had to be something she could do; she had to fight Umbridge's hold over the school. Dumbledore wanted them to fight. They were his army; the school was in their hands.

"I see," Umbridge said. "Well, then perhaps I'll just have to make an example out of you."

Hermione tensed.

"Approach the table, girl," she directed.

She hesitated, wracking her brain for something, anything she or anyone could do.

"_Approach the table_," Umbridge repeated loudly, her voice resonating through the Great Hall.

Jumping, Hermione obeyed.

Once Hermione stood before the Head Table, Umbridge addressed the rest of the students. "To disobey the rules is to be disruptive," she said. "Disruptive behavior brings shame not only upon your house but upon your family and the Wizarding Society as a whole."

Many students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances with the people sitting near them.

Hermione trembled inside, only the force by which her hands were clenched prevented the tremors from becoming visible. Umbridge was capable of anything, everything, and beyond. She wanted to turn around and search out the glances of her friends, of Draco, but instead, she stared at the crack running down the middle of the Head Table.

"Miss Granger," she said to the students, "is a disruption to the education process. She has a complete disregard for the rules that will impede how the rest of you will learn."

Hermione bit her bottom lip, anger coloring her cheeks.

"Therefore, to make sure the rest of you don't forget, she will remember for you." Pointing her wand at Hermione, she spoke a string of Latin words. A bright light leapt from the tip of her wand, hitting Hermione in the chest. Hermione gasped in expectation of pain. However, all she felt was a slight tingle. Curious, she glanced down at herself. In the center of her robes a large red "D" was stitched to the fabric.

"A "D" for disruption." Umbridge smiled. "You may return to your seat."

Cheeks a violent color of red, Hermione turned and shuffled back to her seat, unable to meet the gazes of her friends for any reason other than the sick swirling of emotions in her stomach.

* * *

Later that night Hermione sat curled in the chair before the fire.

"Hermione, it's not so bad," Draco said from the couch.

Frowning, she scowled into the fire. "You're not the one with a great big, bloody "D" fastened to your shirt." She plucked at the pajama shirt she had put on before heading to the seventh floor, the D transferring from her robes to her pajamas instantly.

Draco sighed. "It could have been worse," he said.

He was right; she knew that. However, the fact that things could have turned out drastically worse didn't lessen the shame, anger, or embarrassment she felt. "According to her, I'm a disruption," she bit out, folding her arms across her chest. Though anger radiated off her being, tears of shame pushed at the corners of her eyes. "A disruption," she repeated, her voice squeaking.

"Hermione, come here," Draco called gently, reaching out one hand.

Turning, she glanced at his hand. Then, sighing, she took it, allowing him to pull her into his lap.

"You're not a disruption," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

Curling up against him, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"You're the brightest witch in our year," he continued. "Actually, I bet you're smarter than most of the sixth and half of the seventh years."

She smiled at that, burying her nose in the crook of his neck.

"And you're certainly not a disruption," he said. "Everyone knows you're a stickler for the rules, such a stickler it used to annoy me." He laughed lightly.

"Really?" she mumbled.

"Yep."

Sighing, she stared at the D sitting on her shirt, curling in on herself moments later so it was out of her view.

"So," he said a moment or two later. "McGonagall couldn't get it off?"

"No," she said. "And, Merlin, was she angry."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she couldn't believe Umbridge had done this to me," she said. "But since Umbridge's Ministry-Issued, there's nothing she can do."

"Bloody cow," Draco muttered, and then said, "What about Flitwick?"

She shook her head. "He couldn't get it off either," she said. "Nearly the entire staff tried…even Snape."

"Really?" he said dryly.

"Yep," she said. "I got a feeling he didn't care for her all that well."

"Nobody does," he said.

"No, I suppose not," she said.

* * *

It was an indiscernible hour of the early morning that again found Draco and Hermione asleep on the couch in the Room of Requirement. While Draco slept deeply, mouth partially open, Hermione hovered on the border of deep sleep. Sighing, she turned over, resting her head on his chest, batting at her face when something soft drifted down to tickle her nose. Shifting, she resettled, arm slung over the edge of the couch as one of Draco's arms rested across her back, and fell back to sleep.

* * *

**NaNoWriMo Information** – As promised, if you'd like to follow along with my 2008 NaNo as I write it next month, you can do so through my writing Live Journal which can be found at: niftynovelist(dot)livejournal(dot)com There is no www included in the web address.

As for the novel, it is tentatively titled, "Remember Me," and it's about a young woman who gets a brain tumor. Knowing she's going to die, she makes a list of the ten things she wants to do before she dies.


	39. Victus Fabulae

**Author's Note – **Happy Halloween! Here's the next chapter as I promised. Remember, chapter 40 is scheduled to be out on December 1st. Have a good November, and if you still want to follow along with my NaNoWriMo novel, the link is in chapter 38. If you can't find it just message me.

**Another Note – **The title means "A Living Myth," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

"Victus Fabulae"

* * *

The castle woke as it normally did Wednesday morning of the third week of March, students stumbling out of bed, grumblings of unfinished Potions homework among the quiet shuffling footsteps, and the slow trickle of students making their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. However, that morning would remain in two particular students' memories for quite possibly forever.

Hermione woke slowly, a ray of sunlight falling upon her face. Squinting, she turned on her side, closing her eyes as she did so. Head resting on Draco's chest, she listened to his steady heartbeat, the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest soothing. He slept quietly, head hung over the arm of the couch, mouth open. Smiling, she reached up to trace his jawline, but paused. Mouth open in confusion, she reached up, plucking a black feather from his hair.

She ran her fingers along its length, the texture of silk and the color bleeding to a dark red as it reached the tip. Turning it over in her hand, she glanced up at Draco, resting one hand on his chest, poised to shake him awake.

"Dra-"

But she stopped, eyes growing wide as she spotted the wings that had sprouted from Draco's back over night, one spilling over the edge of the couch while the other was tucked beneath his body. Sitting up on her knees, Hermione stared at him. Then, reaching down, she shook him.

"Draco," she said. "Wake up."

"Mmm…" Taking a deep breath, he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back.

"Come on, wake up," she repeated, poking him in the chest.

Peeking one eye open, he glared at her. "What?" he grumbled.

"You need to get up," she said.

Bracing his hands on either side of him, he went to push himself up, but paused, one hand resting upon a feathered wing. Eyes bulging, he stared at the newest addition to his body. Sitting up quickly, his wings following his movement, he craned his neck backwards to look at them.

"Your wings," Hermione said, a smile growing on her lips. "You got your wings."

He glanced at her. "I did," he said, returning his gaze to the great black wings attached to his back, mouth open as if he didn't know what to make of them.

Climbing off his lap, Hermione stood on the carpet, a hand outstretched to stroke the feathers. "They're beautiful," she said, gently combing her fingers through the plumage.

Draco stood slowly, testing the weight of his wings. Head tilted to the side, Hermione circled him, eyes studying the great feathered appendages.

"I'm not an exhibit, Hermione," he said, sensing her fingers running through the feathers, the sensation strange, but oddly pleasing at the same time.

"I know you're not," she said, her hand tracing along the upper curve of his right wing. "Are they heavy?"

"No," he said, "nothing that I can't manage."

"Interesting," she murmured to herself, and then, tilting her head to the side she frowned. "That's strange," she muttered.

"What is?" he asked, craning his neck to look back at her.

"The shirt you're wearing…you'd think it would have been damaged," she said, stroking his back between his shoulder blades, or rather, where his wings now sat.

"What do you mean?"

"When your wings sprouted, they went right through your shirt," she said.

"They did?! This is one of my favorite shirts," he said, alarmed as he spun in a circle, neck angled back as he tried to survey any damage to the apparently normal-appearing t-shirt he wore.

"Calm down," she said, wanting to laugh. "Your shirt's fine."

"It is?" he asked, Hermione nodding in reply. "Oh."

"It's like your wings went right through the fabric," she said. "Take your shirt off."

Draco looked at her, eyes wide. "Pardon?"

"Your shirt," she said, gesturing to the green t-shirt. "Take it off."

He merely stared at her.

"Oh, come on, Draco," she said. "It's not like I haven't seen you without a shirt."

Sighing ever so dramatically, he grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over his head, the shirt coming off effortlessly, completely uninhibited by his wings. Tossing the shirt on the couch, he sent her a look. Hermione frowned, curiosity shining in her eyes, Draco mirroring a similar expression, if only decreased in intensity.

"There must be magic in them," she said.

"Of course there's magic in them," he said.

"Can you move them?" she asked next. "Like a bird…move them like a bird."

He bit his lip, brow furrowing as he attempted to move his wings of his own accord. However, instead of movement, the wings vanished as if they were never there. Jumping back, hand poised in the air, Hermione gasped.

"What…where…where'd they go?" she asked, eyes flicking back and forth as her mind tried to make sense of their disappearance.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "They're still there."

"No," she said. "Look behind you. They're not there anymore."

Glancing behind him, Draco frowned. "But I still feel them," he said. "They're _still_ there."

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully, and then reached up with one hand where his wings should have been. "Invisible," she said, fingers meshing through soft feathers. "They're invisible."

The wings twitched and Draco smiled. "That feels good," he said.

She grinned, running her fingers along the length of his wings. Draco sighed.

"Turn them visible again," Hermione said a moment later.

"What? How?" he asked, confused.

"You turned them invisible…now, turn them back."

"But I don't know how I turned them invisible," he said, beginning to sound annoyed. "How can I turn them visible when I don't even know how I did this in the first place?"

"Great Merlin, Draco," she said, scolding in her voice. "Just think."

Sighing, he looked away, but the far away look in his eyes and the lip caught between teeth led testament to the thoughts within his mind.

"I don't know," he said finally, glaring at her.

Rolling her eyes, she raised an eyebrow. "How do you use your magic? Or your fire?"

He shrugged. "That's easy," he said. "This isn't."

"How," she reiterated.

"I feel it inside myself and draw it to the surface," he said. "I don't think my wings work that way."

"Try it," she said, a grin of excitement growing.

"I don't think it'll work, Hermione," he said dryly.

"Just do it," she said. "Humor me."

Sighing, he closed his eyes, and a moment later, his wings reappeared.

Hermione's grin grew. "See," she said. "I knew you could do it."

"I guess I did," he said.

"Now, try to-"

From a darkened corner of the room, a flame of bright fire flashed, Fawkes' trilled greeting causing Hermione and Draco to turn in sudden surprise. He landed majestically on the back of a chair, a rolled parchment in his beak. Hermione took the note, Fawkes singing a few notes before preening beneath his wings.

"What's it say?" Draco asked, peering over Hermione shoulder as she unrolled the parchment.

"It's from Dumbledore," she said, eyes scanning the neatly scripted lines. "And it's for you." She handed him the note.

_Draco,_

_The castle has informed me of a great change. It is honored to have you within its walls. Trust in the castle and trust in your friends. Loyalty will take you as far as honesty. As for the here and now, you are excused from classes for the rest of the day as is Hermione. Now, in regards to a certain professor that has earned my immediate dislike, I reassure you that she will be of no trouble. A house elf's loyalty does come in handy._

_-AD_

_P.S. A dear friend once said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Take it to heart Miss Granger and stand proud._

Fingers brushing against the stitched D stuck to her clothes, Hermione bit her bottom lip, blinking back tears. A hand came to rest on her lower back, its heated presence comforting. Draco glanced at her, his eyes questioning.

Nodding, Hermione smiled at him, returning her attention to the main body of the letter. "A house elf's loyalty does come in handy?" she read, frowning. "What does he mean?"

Glancing at her, Draco shrugged.

* * *

At the opposite end of the castle, Professor Umbridge ate breakfast, reveling in the power of being Headmistress. Scanning the Great Hall, she grinned, paying close mind to the Gryffindor table as she did each meal. She passed over the Potter Brat talking to The Weasley's sister, a feisty bint of a young girl, if Umbridge were to ever voice her opinion. They spoke quietly to a boy of whom she could never remember his name, though the toad that always came with his presence sent shudders down her spine. Amphibians were an inferior species of animal, not to mention slimy and dirty.

Then, her brow furrowed, her mind sensing the absence of another person. Bushy brown hair came to mind, and the name Hermione Granger popped into her head. Squinting her eyes and reaching for her goblet of pumpkin juice, she drew her eyes to the opposite end of the Great Hall where the Slytherins were quietly eating breakfast. Bringing the lip of the goblet to her mouth, she took a sip of juice as she sought out the head of blond hair that she would bet would also be missing. Lies and deception drifted from those two like a reeking stench one could not get rid of. She knew they were up to something; they were always up to something. Just what, she did not know.

The pumpkin juice chilled her tongue, and she swirled it through her mouth. Swallowing, she set the goblet down, picked up her fork and dug into her eggs with fervor, a pleasant and clear set to her mind as if a fog had been lifted. Everything was perfect, more than perfect; everything was simply splendid.

* * *

Draco's wings fluttered, ticklish as Hermione ran her hand through his feathers again, though he forced himself to remain stoic in the face of the laughter threatening to bubble up. Other feelings, other sensations trickled down his spine, and Draco decided he'd had enough of Hermione influencing his body as she was; it was his turn to show her what he could do to her.

Spinning around to face her, he grinned impishly. Squeaking with his sudden actions, Hermione glanced up at his face, only to be quickly taken by a kiss. Her insides melted quickly, knees going to jelly. A hand ran through her hair, the other matching its pair's movements. His thumbs pressed gently into her temples, fingers entangled in her curly hair.

* * *

"That _was_ certainly odd…"

"Did you see her face?"

"She smiled."

"That was creepy…"

"But she actually _smiled_."

"And then she cancelled all classes."

"You think someone put something in her pumpkin juice?"

"Probably…"

A pause.

"We'll have to thank Fred and George for that one."

Ginny paused outside the door that suddenly appeared on the wall after the four of them paced the hallway on the seventh floor, Barnabas the Barmy asking incessant questions about nothing relative to the current situation, questions that were effortlessly ignored. Hand turning the knob, she opened the heavy, wooden door, the four of them hurriedly entering the Room of Requirement, the door softly closing behind them.

"You suppose they'll tell us…"

Harry's comment remained suspended in the air, his eyes widening as did Ginny's and Neville's.

Luna, however, merely smiled. "I was right," she said. "I like being right."

The moment the door opened, Hermione leapt away from Draco, her hand covering her mouth as she turned a rosy red color. Draco stepped away, panic rising in his throat, conscious of the large, black wings protruding from his back.

"What…you…"

"Are those…"

"Am I…"

"Wings?! Malfoy's got wings?" Harry's eyes bulged, his words being the only coherent sentence anyone could form at the moment.

Draco furrowed his brow, biting his lip as he concentrated, the wings disappearing a moment later. He nervously ran a hand through his hair, wary of their reaction.

"Malfoy's got wings!" A laugh escaped Harry's mouth. "Oh, this is too much." At the waist, he doubled over in laughter.

"Harry," Ginny said tentatively. "I would suggest that you shut it…right now."

"But…" he tried.

Ginny cut him off. "What exactly is going on?" she asked, her eyes calculating. "Do you really have wings?"

Draco glanced at Hermione, a hesitant look being sent back at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Luna spoke up before her in her characteristic light and feathery voice.

"Of course he has wings. It's what he is," she said.

"What exactly is…is he?" Neville said, starting at Draco with wide eyes.

"An Ignius," Draco said, finally speaking up. He licked his lips, swallowing nervously. "I'm an Ignius."

"Facinating…I love it," Luna said. "I knew you were something…something not of the other."

Five sets of eyes stared at the blond girl.

"But…I…you…" Ginny paused. "You…you're not supposed to…to exist."

Draco raised an eyebrow and held out his hands. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Igniuses are mythical creatures," she said.

"Ignii," Draco drawled.

"What?" Ginny glanced at him.

"The plural form of Ignius is Ignii, not Igniuses," he said.

"Right, whatever," she said, waving his words away, Draco bristling at her gesture. "Anyways, everybody's heard the stories…"

"I haven't," Harry said. "And why do I feel like I'm in the Outer Limits?"

"The what?" Draco asked, Ginny and Neville turning towards Harry, matching quizzical expressions on their faces.

"It's a show on the tele," Hermione explained.

"Right," Draco said before turning to Ginny, pointedly ignoring Harry's ignorance of Wizarding Fairy Tales. "We're not mythical…not entirely…incredibly rare is more like it. I'm the first known full blown Ignius to exist for the past two hundred years."

Harry frowned. "But…how?" he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's quite simple, Potter," he said. "When a man and a woman love each other very much, or in the case of my parents, needed to produce a viable heir…"

"Malfoy, that's not what I meant…" he groaned. "How is it possible that you're an Ignius?"

He smirked at the obvious discomfort he caused Harry. "It has to do with dominant and recessive traits…know anything about that, Potter?" he taunted.

Harry glowered.

"Genetics," Neville spoke up. "There's a muggle a hundred years ago named Mendel who used pea plants to determine that there are dominant and recessive genes. It's rather interesting. I read all about it in this muggle herbology book last…"

"Longbottom," Draco cut in dryly, "thanks for the history lesson, but you think we could do _without_ your rambling?"

Turning beet red, Neville mumbled something unintelligible and stared at the corner. Luna smiled at him, her hand brushing his own, evidence of her caring shown in her own way.

"But, essentially, Longbotton's right," Draco said. "The Ignius gene is recessive…it's incredibly rare. There are Ignii inexistence, but they have the dominant trait…therefore, they aren't technically Ignii. Make sense?" he asked, his eyes paying special, patronizing mind to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So you have the recessive gene…making you an Ignius," Ginny concluded. "A real Ignius."

"Essentially…yes," he said.

"Fire, wings, bonded and everything?" she asked.

"Yes."

She glanced at Hermione who shifted on her feet.

"Minus the bonded part," Draco added last minute. "I'm too young yet."

"Fire?" Harry spoke up. "You can control fire?"

Holding out his hand, a tiny flame appeared, growing in size until it rivaled the size of a bludger. Rolling his hand, the ball of fire followed his movements, and then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the fire hurtling through the room. It skimmed Fawkes' head feathers, the phoenix squawking, and promptly disappeared.

With the flame gone, Draco stared at the four people who had quickly become his friends in the past months, searching their expressions.

"That's actually rather wicked," Ginny said, staring at the spot where the fire had disappeared. "You're a myth come to life."

"I like it," Luna mused, that being all she apparently was going to say on the subject.

Neville shrugged, hands timidly in his pockets. "I don't see how it would make a difference. You're still the same person."

A short silence descended upon the group, all eyes turning towards Harry.

"What?" he barked, hands thrown up in the air. A scathing glare from Hermione and Ginny elbowing him in the ribs turned his tone around. "Fine, whatever…how much weirder can my life get?"

"An answer to which would be immeasurable bounds," Luna whispered.

"So, now that we have that out of the way," Hermione said, changing the subject. "What are all of you doing here? Don't you have classes?" She eyed them, preparing to scold them.

"Umbridge canceled classes," Ginny said.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Cancelled classes?" Hermione squeaked.

"Calm down, Hermione…I'm sure you'll survive," Draco soothed, patting her on the back.

Hermione growled at him. Then, as if something occurred to her, she glanced at him and then Fawkes, Dumbledore's letter sitting innocently on the coffee table. Draco matched her look and they shared a smile.

"Well," Draco said. "It looks like we have all day…"

"In that case," Harry said, turning, "I'm going back to bed…"

"I wonder if Professor Sprout will let me work in the green house…"

"Wait," Hermione said. "I have an idea."

"What's that?" Ginny said, plans entailing a day spent lounging in bed already forming in her mind.

She grinned, glancing at Draco, his wings visible again. "Anybody ever teach an Ignius to fly?"

* * *

The Room of Requirement was quite possibly the favorite room of six specific students residing within Hogwarts, mainly because of its uncanny ability to form to their exact needs. Therefore, in alignment to this aspect of the room, a second door appeared beside the fireplace moments after Hermione suggested they teach Draco to fly. Through this door, a cavernous space existed, the size of which was double if not triple the size of the room they use for DA meetings, the floors spongy and bouncy, their feet sinking several centimeters into the material. A gentle wind blew through the room, its origins unknown.

"How long have you known he's an Ignius?" Ginny sat along the wall beside the door, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. She glanced at Hermione.

"A month or so into the school year," she said, watching as Draco took a running start and leapt into the air, his wings catching the air currents the Room of Requirement supplied. Harry, having accioed his Firebolt, zipped around the room, calling out to Draco in taunting tones, Draco bantering back and forth with him with a matching fervor. "Though," Hermione continued, "truly I suspected something was off long before I figured out he was an Ignius."

"How long before?" Ginny asked.

"The summer."

Mouth gaping, Ginny gawked at Hermione. "The summer?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes flicking from Draco as he flew cautiously through the air to Neville standing below on the ground, his hand pointing upwards as he offered advice to Draco. Surprisingly enough, Draco took the advice. Beside him, Luna stood serenely, her hand slipped into Neville's and her golden hair blowing in the wind, the bottle caps, corkscrews, and other odds and ends she had tied into the strands clinking in the breeze. "There were moments where…where things were just off…a scent in the air, a strange scorch mark on a piece of parchment, something he would say," Hermione said. "None of it made sense, and I just had this gut feeling that there was more to him."

"There certainly is more to him," Ginny said, watching the pair up in the air, her eyes following a zipping and darting figure as Hermione's trained upon the graceful swooping of the other, wings outstretched. "What about his bonded?"

"What about it?" Hermione said stiffly.

"It makes sense now," Ginny said, "your hesitation…but then again…"

Hermione sighed, pulling her legs to her chest. Her arms draped across her knees. "Please don't remind me."

"Hermione…"

She shook her head. "I know…I know…part of me, the logical part, says this wasn't my smartest choice," she said. "But my heart…the way I feel about him…"

"Stop," Ginny said gently.

"Ginny…"

"No," she said. "Have you ever thought…hasn't the thought ever occurred…"

"That I'm his bonded?" she chocked out.

Ginny stared at her meaningfully.

"Please don't start on this, Ginny," she pleaded, her eyes dredging up emotions she'd pushed away.

"But haven't you ever…"

"_**Of course**_," Hermione snapped. "Of course I've thought of it…it's what I hope for the most. I hate the thought of some other person loving him like I do…" Her voice softened, pain clearly in her tone. "…of him loving someone else…" She looked away.

"It would make sense, though…it would fit," Ginny said.

Hermione shook her head.

"I see the way you two are around each other…"

She closed her eyes, head tilted away from Ginny and her words, words that rang of such truth that they hurt.

"You make each other glow…don't you see that?"

Hermione stood up. "No, please don't, Ginny," she said, walking away as Draco landed fifteen meters away. She put a smile on her face, her heart thudding and throbbing, and approached him. "Having fun?" she asked.

He grinned, his hair swept to the side and a rosy color splashed across his cheeks. "You've got to come up with me, Hermione," he said, eyes shining.

That made her pause, her footsteps halted mid-step. "Excuse me?" she asked.

He held out his arms. "Come on," he said. "I won't drop you; I promise."

Eyes wide, she shook her head. "That's ok," she said. "I like my feet on the ground, thank you very much!"

"Oh, live a little," he taunted, grinning and he grabbed her hand, tugging on it.

"I live very well and I happen to enjoy my life as I have it," she said, both of her hands now enclosed in his. She glanced back at Ginny who was watching them thoughtfully. Above her Harry circled, a calculating expression on his face. Off in the distance, Neville and Luna engaged themselves in something other than what was going on around them, their hand joined and their faces close together. Her eyes returned to Draco and a sigh escaped her lips. "Oh fine," she said.

"Excellent!"

"But…" she started, Draco pausing. "If you drop me, I will _never_ forgive you."

"I would never," he claimed, faux horror crossing his beautiful face. "Now, come on." He grabbed both her hand, drawing them up and around his neck. "You might want to hold on, though."

Ginny sat back and watched as Draco took a running leap, propelling himself into the air with the grace and ease one would imagine would come from a supposedly mythical creature. Hermione shrieked, arms clamping around his neck as his laughter punctuated his vocal request for her to open her eyes. Still circling them, Harry scowled, voicing his declaration that he would castrate Draco if he so much as caused a scratch upon her. Ginny chuckled, leaning back on her hands. So much was obvious to her in the easy love they had for each other. Destiny and fate were most certainly on their side; she felt it.


	40. Consectari Acerbus

**Author's Note – **Yay! I'm officially back until next year's NaNoWriMo. My NaNo novel is amazing, simply amazing, though I currently hate it because it completely burned me out. The last five to seven thousand were absolute rubbish, but it's my rubbish. I feel all swoony. Ok, so I'm still a touch loopy from last night's 2,500 word sprint to the finish line. Fifty thousands words in thirty days, or in my case less than thirty days, is rough on my muse. He's taking a vacation that I authorized. But, here's the promised next chapter of Fire Dragon, early to boot!

**Another Note – **The title loosely mean, "The Chasing Dark," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I own nothing, absolutely nothing, except the concept of the Ignius. That _is_ mine.

* * *

**Chapter Forty**

"Consectari Acerbus"

* * *

A week passed, two slipping by as the last vestiges of March drew the remaining chill from the air, April taking its place along with seasonable warmth and rain. Tuesday morning of the second week of April began as it usually did with breakfast and owl post, Draco receiving an owl from his father like regulated clockwork. Groaning to himself, he set the letter beside his plate, resisting the urge to crumple it, and returned to his eggs.

"Aren't you going to open that, Malfoy?"

Glancing up from his breakfast, he eyed Nott coldly. "What I do with my post is none of your business, Nott," he hissed, eyeing Umbridge as she ate her porridge up at the Head Table, her watchful eyes scanning the students.

"I think it might be," he said, his tone taunting and goading. "Especially if you got the same type of letter I did." Nott smirked. "You should be honored, really."

"Piss off, Nott," Draco growled, picking up the letter and shoving it into his bag, his fingers smoking with the desire to reduce the blasted parchment to dust.

"If that's your fancy, Malfoy, then so be it," Nott said. "But I wouldn't ignore that letter, especially with what you've been up to."

Draco's attention spiked, his head jerking around. "And what, precisely, do you think I've been up to?" he snapped, his eyes flicking to the Headmistress.

"I'm not sure yet," Nott said easily. "But when I find out, I'm sure my father will gladly tell yours."

Stomach growing cold with the promise held within the words, Draco thanked the fates for the dismissal bell that signaled the end of breakfast. Stuffing one last spoonful of eggs into his mouth, Draco grabbed his bag and strode out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Half the day passed before Draco thought about the letter burning a hole in his bag. By the time lunchtime arrived, he was sure there was a smoking gap where the letter sat among his books and quills. It nagged at his mind, pulling his thoughts and tugging at his already frayed nerves. Let out of Transfiguration early, he broke free from the group herding themselves down to the Great Hall for lunch and ducked into an empty classroom.

Slamming the door with more force than necessary, he dumped the contents of his bag onto the first desk he came to, wrenching the letter from between two text books. Tearing it open, he scanned its contents, his stomach heaving as his heart froze.

_Draco,_

_I write this letter with knowledge of information that should please you. The Dark Lord and I have been in correspondence and he surmises your time to take the mark draws near. The ceremony will take place this summer. Now is the time to focus on the future, Draco, an honorable future serving the Dark Lord. All this nonsense you've been up to must stop. The Dark Lord's offer is generous considering the implications with your species. He is willing to welcome you into the brotherhood of Deatheaters, Draco. I request that you accept his offer, and he will require a response by next week. The Dark Lord watches._

_On to other topics, I have gathered that Headmistress Umbridge is forming a group at Hogwarts. She and I have been in contact all year and she is willing to overlook your behavior in return for your participation in the group. You are to take her offer, Draco. This is not a request. I fully expect to hear that you are behaving in accordance with her policies. Delores Umbridge is a powerful woman, Draco. It would do you good to remember that._

_-Father_

Crumpling the letter in his hand, Draco sat down heavily in the desk, his head dropping into his hands. He was thankful that he hadn't eaten lunch prior to opening the letter as rolls of nausea shuddered through his body, the acidic aftertaste of bile tainting the back of his throat. Shaking, he squeezed his eyes shut, the note already disappearing into ash that drifted to the ground. A sound escaped his throat, low and drawn out. His head dropped to the desk, his arms coming to wrap around. And he sat there all afternoon, trying to breathe when all he wanted to do was scream.

* * *

Hermione consulted her carefully outlined study schedule for OWLs, flipping through her daily planner, scribbling notes here and there. As was habit, the DA Core lounged in their secret room hidden within the Room of Requirement. Ginny and Luna occupied the tables, a Potions essay due the next morning, their scrambling and grumbling laying evidence to their frustration. Around the low table in front of the fire, Harry, Draco, and Neville scribbled away at a practice Charms test Hermione had created earlier that day.

"A variety of study methods is your best bet," she had said when Harry had protested to the idea.

"I think it's a good idea," Neville had said. "I surely could use the extra practice."

Draco had said nothing, taking the test from Hermione's outstretched hand and setting about to work on it.

She studied him as his quill scratched through the twenty five questions she had constructed. He seemed quiet, his features pale and drawn. Across from him, Harry scowled at the practice test as he mumbled to himself. Beside him, Neville frowned, concentration drawing lines across his forehead. Both appeared halfway finished with the test. Glancing at Draco, answers had been written for all twenty five questions, his eyes staring blankly at the parchment. Behind him, his wings were fanned out, tired from being hidden for most of the day.

"Hey," she said quietly, leaning over so she could see his face. "Are you alright?"

Jerking up at her voice, Draco stared at her with wild eyes. "I'm fine," he said quickly, too quickly in Hermione's opinion.

She frowned, lips pressing together. Draco blinked, giving her a moment's glance, and returned to staring at his practice test. Hermione looked up, meeting Neville's glance, the boy shrugging, a confused and unsure expression on his face. Again, she sighed. Shaking her head, Hermione returned to her daily planner, scheduling out blocks of time in the upcoming weeks for some hardcore study time, making sure they were evenly spaced and set at optimal times of the day. Scratching the side of her nose, Hermione sniffed delicately, flipping the page of her planner.

Draco stared at the completed practice test, his answers hastily scrawled in an attempt to get anything down upon the parchment, paying no mind to whether they were accurate or not. His fingers gripped the edges of the parchment, crinkles and creases popping up around where his fingers clenched together, the parchment a mere victim to his high-strung nerves.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the subject they were studying, on the questions he most certainly answered incorrectly. His eye sight wavered; he clenched his teeth together, his head aching from the pressure in his jaw. A tight ball of anxiety swirled in his stomach, mixing with his fire until he couldn't discern his power from the emotions threatening to run rampant through his body.

Concentration was impossible, his thought process hindered with his father's words and what they implied. Memories of last year's summer ran through his head. What would this summer bring? What would become of him? Fear clenched his stomach and he tightened his grip on the parchment. A tiny wisp of smoke wound its way up from Draco's left index finger.

His mind whirled uncontrollably.

Another tendril of smoke appeared.

Everything built up within him.

His father…

The approaching summer…

The Dark Mark…

The Dark Lord…

Within his belly, something swirled, building and growing. His hands shook, his vision blurring around the edges.

Was this his destiny? Were the fates really this cruel? Oh why was he given this life?

Silver eyes dulled to a smoky gray, feathers rustling restlessly.

Everything in his life meant nothing. Why was he ever born if this was what his life would amount to?

Smoke rose from his hair.

Beside him, unaware of the turmoil sitting not even an arm's span away, Hermione flipped her planner shut, tucking it neatly into her bag. Flipping through the books stacked within her bag, she paused, head tilting upward as she sniffed the air. At the same time, Harry happened to glance up, detecting the same scent permeating the air. Hermione met his eyes and they both turned to Draco.

"What the hell?!" Harry retorted first. "Why's he smoking?"

"Shut it, Harry," Hermione demanded.

Neville glanced up at the commotion as did Ginny and Luna sitting at the tables across the room. Draco continued to shake, his jaw clenched as the vein in his forehead drew out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin tone. The parchment in his hands began to scorch along the edges, curling up at the corners.

Hermione turned to the boy sitting beside her, her hand resting upon his arm as her heart pattered wildly in the worry that erupted in her throat. "Draco?" she asked hoarsely, never seeing him so close to loosing control.

Ginny and Luna stood from where they studied together, crossing the room as it became apparent that Draco was in real distress. Harry's typical annoyance at his unorthodox friend dissolved into alarm as Neville stared on with wide eyes. Hermione remained the only one who dared touch him, dared speak to him.

"Draco…" she said again, her voice low and calm. Her hand rested on his forearm, conscious of not only the strain in his muscles but in the abnormal amount of heat she sensed radiating off of him. "Draco, what's wrong?"

The parchment sizzled. Draco clenched his eyes shut, all too aware of the fire trying to crash through his resolve.

Hermione's eyes widened with an almost panicked degree of fear. "Merlin above, Draco, you need to control yourself," she ordered. Her hand tightened slightly on his arm, tugging at it. "What's wrong?"

What happened next occurred so quickly, none of those present could say precisely what happened. However, what they all agreed on later was that Draco lost it, completely and utterly lost it.

"**What?!** What the _hell_ do you want?" he screamed, leaping off the couch, the parchment flying from his hand as it burst into flame.

His wings jutted out from his back angrily, random objects set upon the table suddenly consumed in fire. Smoke filled the room, chocking the air as flames crept along the floor outward from where Draco stood. Fire caught to anything flammable, the rising power and tension making it hard to breathe through the smoky air.

It was as if the room had exploded, chairs tipping over, portraits on the walls falling to the floor, the couch catching the blaze crawling along the floor. A wind swirled through the air, sharp and tangy with residual pain and anguish. They all tasted it as it mixed with the acrid smoke.

Harry immediately drew his wand. "_Protego_," rolled off his lips, the spell being cast before he even considered if it would work against an Ignius' fire. Ginny followed his spell with one of her own, the hazy blue shield darkening in color. She glanced at him, worry crossing her eyes.

At the same time, Neville drew his own wand, a stream of water soaking the table, the couch, and the floor, the spell he uttered extinguishing the fire that had begun to quickly spread.

Outside the shield that protected Harry, Ginny, and Neville, Hermione stammered as Draco screamed the same thing over and over again, his voice growing hoarse with the strain. His eyes were glazed over, darting around the room wildly, as if he didn't have a clue as to where he was, nor did he seem to see the girl standing in front of him. The unrestrained magic that fluctuated wildly around him scared her. She could feel the heat coming off his body, beads of sweat appearing at her brow.

Suddenly, Luna was at Hermione's side, her pale hand reaching up to touch the side of Draco's head, her wand pointing to his chest. She smiled serenely and whispered something Hermione couldn't hear over Draco carrying on.

And then, silence, Draco growing limp and sliding to the floor, his eyes closing. The resulting echo in the room after the burst of power resonated between the five friends, each making eye contact with another. Hesitantly, they all approached the unconscious boy, Hermione already on her knees, one hand brushing through his hair as the other one grabbed Draco's hand.

"What the _**hell**_ just happened?" Harry started, running a hand through his hair.

Hermione shook her head, holding back the tears that wanted to fall. "I don't know," she said.

"He lost control," Luna suggested softly.

"I'll say," Ginny retorted.

"But never like this," Hermione said. "He's never lost it like this."

Neville glanced back at the room slowly repairing itself, their personal possessions that weren't a part of the room remaining singed and sopping wet. "What do we do?" he asked.

"Something had to have happened," Hermione said. "Why didn't I see?"

"Hermione," Ginny said, looking at her friend. "You can't blame yourself."

"I'm not," she said petulantly.

Ginny pressed her lips together, not saying anything.

"He _has_ been really quiet today," Neville offered.

"Should we wake him up?" Ginny said, glancing at each of the people sitting around Draco in turn.

"You think it's safe?" Neville said.

"Where's his wand?" Harry asked.

Ginny reached across Draco's body, taking the wand from his pocket and handing it to Hermione. "I think you should hold on to this."

She took it. "This won't help any," she said. "He doesn't use his wand to control his fire. It's a wandless power."

"It's still five against one," Harry said, scooting closer to Draco as he aimed his wand at the blond boy's neck. "Everybody ready?"

Ginny, Neville, and Luna drew their wands, Hermione following reluctantly a moment later.

Pausing a moment, Harry spoke the words, Draco groaning, a hand unconsciously going to his face. They watched with trepidation.

"Are you in control?" Harry asked, staring Draco directly in the eye.

Draco blinked, feeling confused and oddly drained. Glancing around at the circle of faces occupying the area directly above his head, he then became aware of the wands pointed at him, the tip of one gouging into his neck. He slid his eyes to the side, surveying the rest of the room, the damage that was slowly repairing itself and the sopping wet parchments dripping off the side of the low table in front of the fire. And he remembered, the empty space in the center of his body weighing down upon him as he realized exactly why he felt so magically drained.

"_**Are you in control?**_" Harry demanded, pushing the tip of his wand into Draco's neck.

Draco stared up at him, nodding quickly. "Yes," he said. "I'm in control."

Slowly, the wands were pulled away, and Draco sat up, feeling incredibly weak. Weak and hungry, very hungry. Weak, hungry, and tired. He felt as if he could sleep for an eternity of time. One hand going through his hair, he stared wide-eyed at the five people still surrounding him, Harry still on guard.

"What happened, Draco?" Hermione asked, drawing his attention to her.

He glanced down at where she held his hand, looking up a moment later to the other faces demanding an explanation. His stomach twisted.

"I lost control," he said.

"_Why?_" she asked.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to her and then to the rest of the group. He figured, if there were five people in the entire world that he trusted, they were certainly it.

* * *

"I think you should do it."

"Excuse me? Why don't you go and take the Dark Mark this summer, Potter? See how you like it."

Draco growled from where he sat half an hour later upon one of the couches before the fireplace. Any evidence of Draco's loss of control had disappeared, the Room of Requirement returning itself to their usual study room, Hermione banishing the ruined practice tests as they all sat down around the low table. A platter of sandwiches sat in the middle of the table, Dobby being more than happy to help the DA Core, cheerily popping into to the room with a towering stack of food and a half dozen pitchers of chilled pumpkin juice. Draco had easily plowed through a dozen sandwiches by the time he finished sharing the contents of his father's letter and the impending summer.

"That's not what I meant, Malfoy," Harry said in response to Draco's aghast exclamation.

"Then you better explain yourself, Potter," he said testily. "Because if you think I'm going to take the Dark Mark, then I'll gladly tell you where you can shove your idiotic ideas."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Drama Queen much?" he asked snarkily.

Draco sneered.

"I didn't mean that you should take the mark…I wasn't even referring to that," he said, sighing exasperatedly. "What I _was_ trying to say was that it might not be such a bad idea for you to join this group that Umbridge is apparently creating. It'd be helpful to have somebody on the inside."

"Like a spy," Neville said.

"That would be helpful," Ginny said. "I'd say we go for it."

Draco glanced at Hermione and Luna.

"It's a good idea," Luna said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "And it might ease some of the tension between you and your father."

Resisting the urge to snort, knowing nothing could ease the tension, Draco had to admit that Harry's idea wasn't half bad, it was almost good. "Believe it or not, Potter, but I think your idea could work," he said.

* * *

Headmistress Umbridge sat in her office, fingers steepled beneath her massive triple chins, her eyes squinting with pleasure. A week ago she had decided to celebrate the coming of Spring, and coincidentally the beginning of April, with a new decree.

_Educational Decree #33 – By this order, the instatement of the Inquisitorial Squad, as directed by Delores Umbridge, is hereby initiated. Any student wishing to participate may consult the Headmistress._

Such a marvelous idea, the implications of such made her shiver with delight. She knew great things would come of her Inquisitorial Squad. And low and behold, not even two days after it was created, none other than Draco Malfoy was knocking on her door, penance upon his mind.

"I would like to join the Inquisitorial Squad," he had said, standing before her desk.

Umbridge swelled with delight, as she did now, sorting through the stack of detention slips her Inquisitorial Squad had handed out on their first run of the school. Pride filled her being, eyes watering at the number of Gryffindors added to the list of students expected to serve time under her watchful eye.

* * *

"This is ridiculous."

"It's for a good cause."

"No, not that…this."

Hermione leaned up on one elbow. "What is?"

Draco pulled at the large I.S. patch sewn to his shirt. "I think she used that same spell she used last month on your shirt," he said, not able to even get a corner of the patch unattached from the t-shirt he wore.

"She's evil," Hermione said.

"Repulsive."

"A dismal excuse for a teacher."

"For a human," Draco said.

"For anything."

"I hope she rots in hell," he said.

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Sorry, sorry," he said. "That's far too kind. I hope she gets her innards eaten by a dementor."

Hermione giggled. "I don't think dementors eat flesh."

Shrugging, Draco glanced at her. They lay upon the floor of the hidden room within the Room of Requirement, side-by-side with the fire their only companion. A pile of plush pillows generously supplied by the room cushioned them from the floor, blankets thrown into the mix at the room's whimsy. Well past curfew, they resigned to staying the night in their hide-away place. In truth, Draco had taken to spending most nights on the couch.

"They're all just a bunch of wankers," he had said, referencing his once fellow housemates.

That was nearly three days ago, and the thought of that specific frame of time brought up other things in Draco's mind.

"Hermione?" he asked, turning towards her.

"Yeah?"

"Do you…do you think everything will be ok?" he asked, the only reason he was even able to utter the question being the unconditional and undying trust he held for the girl he loved.

Hermione stared into his eyes, immediately catching the underlying meaning in his question. "Of course," she said. "You have me…and Harry and Ginny…and Luna and Neville. We won't let anything happen to you." She paused. "And Professor Dumbledore will come through; he always does."

He stared at the ceiling. "It's been three days since we wrote to him," he said. "Couldn't he have gotten back to us by now? What's taking him so long?"

"Who knows when it comes to Professor Dumbledore? But he knows your situation," she said. "He'll think of something and everything will be alright."

"You promise?" he asked.

She paused, Draco glancing over at her. "I promise," she said, hoping she wouldn't regret her words.


	41. Recursus

**Author's Note** – Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I have an extra special present for all of you which you can access at the end of this chapter. Read, enjoy, and review! I love Christmas!

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely means, "The Return," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own anything except the concept of the ignius. Don't steal that.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One**

"Recursus"

* * *

For once, life at Hogwarts seemed normal, the general relaxed tone of that Monday morning a fresh breath to the majority of the student body. However, tucked deep in a corner of the seventh floor, energy crackled in the air.

Like a resounding crack, a fist made contact with flesh. Ron Weasley stumbled, his hand gripping his face. He wanted to sneer, but forced the expression down, resolving to merely stare forward.

"You fucking traitor," Harry screamed, wand forgotten in lieu of physical combat.

Ron propped himself against the wall, a thin stream of blood trickling down through his fingers. It dripped onto his robes, staining the Inquisitorial Squad badge fastened to the material. With a baleful look, Ron glanced down at it, the source of Harry's anger. He said nothing, there being nothing to say. Time would have to be on his side for this one.

* * *

Draco stood at the juncture of the first and second corridors on the fourth floor right outside Professor McGonagall's office. Sweeping a hand over his perfectly gelled hair, he straightened his robes, picking pretend particles of lint from his left sleeve. He remembered his mask perfectly, molding his facial features into to the cold and scathing ones everybody would be expecting, ones that everybody would believe.

His father had been informed of his decision immediately, a congratulatory letter being sent the next day along with a brand new broom, a limited-edition Firebolt 3000, his name elegantly scribed into the handle. Draco had written a hasty thank you note, stashing the broom in the dorm room he had reluctantly moved back into. Crabbe's snores paired with Goyle's grunts were a testament to Draco's regret, the warm and quiet atmosphere of the hide-away room calling to him, though he knew he had to keep up appearances.

Now, however, Draco stood regally in his post, his eyes passing over the students passing, searching for an appropriate target. Students streamed by, chatting with one another animatedly. However, when they passed Draco, their eyes hovering upon the perma-sticked Inquisitorial Squad badge, they quieted considerably, faces watching him warily as they passed. Draco held a cold expression, his eyes sharing nothing nor giving away to what truly lay beneath.

Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and his own brethren, Slytherins, passed. A sixth year Slytherin parted the students as he walked by, nodding his head at Draco. Draco returned the gesture, his eyes scanning the crowd of students that was steadily thinning as the aroma of lunch wafted up the staircases from the Great Hall. A neatly stacked group of detention slips occupied one pocket, Draco's eyes watching the few students now merely trickling down the hall. The fingers of one hand clenched, the only evidence to the fact that Draco needed to satisfy the daily detention quotas Umbridge had included in the guidelines she had given the dozen squad members.

The trickle of students meandered down to a few wandering along here and there, skirting around Draco standing with his arms crossed at the corridor junction. Then, coming around the corner, Draco saw the perfect subject, an allied enemy. A smirk stretched across his face.

"Oi, Potter," he called out.

The few remaining students paused in their steps, turning to watch the eventual confrontation.

"What?" Harry said heavily, fatigued etched across his eyes.

"Think you're so smart, huh? Clever?" Draco taunted, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"What the hell are you going on about?" Harry demanded, scowling at the blond boy.

"I think you know."

"Piss off, Malfoy," Harry said moodily, turning to stalk in the opposite direction.

"I don't think so, Potter."

Rolling his eyes, Harry stopped, repressing a sigh as he shuffled his hair with his hand and turned around. "What do you want then? I don't have all day."

"Oh, touchy, are we? I would watch your words, Potter," Draco said, brushing off the front of his robes, making sure to glance at the I.S. badge and then back at Harry, his eyebrows quirked.

Getting Draco's intention, Harry bristled. "And what's that supposed to mean?" Harry bit out.

"Lacking in the brain department now are we, Potter?"

Harry grumbled and stalked away, not in the mood to further the argument, choosing to instead brood. However, Draco always had to have the last word.

"That would be a detention then, Potter. Disrespecting authority," Draco called out, whipping out a detention slip and scrawling down the pertinent information with his self-inking quill.

* * *

"You're a bloody, fucking arse, you know that?"

"Jeez, someone snap your wand today?"

"This wasn't the plan, Malfoy!"

"As far as I remember, this wasn't covered in the briefing you gave me," Draco retorted.

"I'm not serving that detention," Harry shouted, face turning red.

"I don't think Umbridge will be too pleased to hear that."

"I don't give a bloody damn. She can shove it for all I care."

"Harry…honestly, that's enough."

"Hermione!"

"Great Merlin, Potter, I switched out your name with some lowly Ravenclaw's," Draco finally admitted, Harry still fuming on the couch across from him. "You can stop acting like a bloody drama queen now."

"He has to keep up appearances," Hermione said, sounding calm and reasonable, leaning forward towards Harry.

"We're dealing with Umbridge, here," Neville said.

"You're honestly taking his side."

"There are no sides to be had, here," Ginny said. "Now, why are you going on like this?"

Crossing his arms, Harry glared at the corner of the room.

"Harry…" Hermione placed her hand on his knee.

"Something's going on," Ginny said.

"You're acting out of sorts…have been all week," Neville said.

"It's Ron," Harry mumbled.

"I think it's more than that," Hermione said.

He fumed silently.

"Dreams," Luna suddenly said. "It's your dreams."

"What dreams?" Harry said petulantly.

"The ones you've been having," she said. "The corridor…not unlike the ones you were having at the beginning of the year."

"You've been having dreams?" Ginny said.

"Since when?" Hermione asked.

Harry clenched his teeth. It was all too much; the past week had stacked new issued upon him at an exponential rate. First Ron and the ultimate betrayal that still stung after their fight. Then, just when Harry thought life couldn't screw him over anymore, he began having dreams again, vivid dreams, dreams of a hallway clad in black and a circular room where he couldn't decide which door to choose. The Department of Mysteries. Shaking his head of the memories of the dreams that had begun to plague him again, he stood.

"I'm not having dreams," he said, stalking to the door, wrenching it open, and slamming it shut as he left.

* * *

"Did you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Draco…"

The time neared curfew, Draco having mere minutes before his scheduled I.S. duty called.

He leaned back into the couch, hands clasped behind his head. "What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Hermione gave him a scolding look.

"I needed to keep up appearances…Potter and I fighting…what's more expected than that?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I think you purposefully prod him," she said.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "He's too easy," he said. "Plus…what's the fun in tiptoeing around Potter's…" He paused, searching for the appropriate word. "…sensitivities?"

Shaking her head, Hermione quickly leaned over and kissed him. "Just stop being such a prat," she said, reaching down to grab her bag.

"I can't help it," he said, wagging his eyebrows at her. "It's part of my charm." The feathers on his wings ruffled.

"Real charming," she drawled, heaving the bag over her shoulder as she stood. "It's almost curfew. I need to get back to the tower and you need to do your rounds."

Draco sighed, glancing at the clock, making sure to grumble as he got to his feet. "Great, another night with my dear Slytherins," he growled. "Oh…and one Gryffindor…"

* * *

Curfew had come and gone, the hallways empty except for Inquisitorial Squad members doing their rounds. In pairs, they scoured the hallways and empty classrooms, searching for students out of bed, hoping to catch disobedience in its act.

"It is the Gryffindors you need to watch for," Umbridge had said at their meeting earlier in the night. "They are naturally inclined to disregard the rules and create problems. Don't be hesitant to bring them down." She paused a moment, pinpoint eyes roving over her squad members, pausing on the only red-head present. "No offense to you Mr. Weasley."

"Of course not, Headmistress," he said, bowing his head.

Draco looked over, studying him with cold eyes, taking note that while his voice and general stance spoke of obedience, the fidgeting hands and subtly shuffling feet said something different. However, what subtle differences he saw in Ron Weasley, he couldn't exactly say, though they tugged at the back of his mind.

Three hours later, the castle dead silent, Draco made his way through the ground floor of Hogwarts, the one Gryffindor I.S. member beside him. He'd cursed himself when he had gotten paired up with Weasley for that night's rounds, not wishing for the snide comments about his friends that he knew would come. Yet, Weasley had remained silent, scowling at the floor the entire time, his arms crossed over his chest.

Restlessly, Draco checked his watch, noting another hour to the torture he preferred to call this assignment. However, he had to admit, it could have been worse.

"Oi, you suppose if we pound on their portrait door we'll rile them up?" Goyle had said at the beginning of their rounds, before being split into pairs.

"You don't know where their common room is, idiot," Pansy had said, inspecting her newly manicured fingernails.

"Yeah, I do," he had muttered brutishly.

When Umbridge had split them up into pairs, Crabbe and Goyle had been given the seventh floor, the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room directly in the middle of their path. They had both lumbered off, detention slips clutched in their hands as they shoved each other back and forth. Draco rolled his eyes and thanked Merlin he'd been spared spending four hours with them. Instead, he had gotten Weasley, a groan welling up in his throat at the start. However, Draco had to admit that he wasn't nearly as annoying as he had dreaded, though the patches stitched to the elbows of his robes were tacky.

Half an hour before rounds were scheduled to end, Draco ducked into the loo, nature calling at what he deemed an inconsiderate moment. He left Weasley standing in the hallway. Upon finishing, hands charmed clean, he shoved the loo door open and frowned.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Ron glanced at him from his hiding spot tucked between the wall and an old, tarnished suit of armor that was known for being temperamental. Scowling, he eased himself back into the corridor, paying mind not to jostle the suit of armor.

"It's none of your business," he said darkly, glancing behind himself before heading down the hallway.

* * *

"It just seemed strange," Draco said the next night to the DA Core.

Hermione, sitting beside him, her head leaning against his shoulder, frowned in consideration, though it was Harry who spoke.

"Who cares?" he said moodily, shoving a small stack of books off the end of the low table as he propped his feet up. They landed upended on their spines, pages standing on end.

"Harry, was that really necessary?" Hermione scolded, leaning over to place the books neatly back on the table, paying mind that they weren't within kicking distance of Harry's feet.

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ginny asked.

"Nothing…"

Hermione studied him for a moment. "Are you having those dreams again?" she asked.

At that, Harry frowned, eyes growing darker as he glared holes into the old t-shirt he wore. "No."

"He is," Ginny spoke up, swatting him on the shoulder. "I was up with him last night after one."

"Was that you in the common room then?" Neville asked. "I heard someone down there last night."

Ginny nodded. "We went to the kitchens," she said.

Something clicked in Draco's mind and he sat up. "What time?"

"What?" Ginny asked.

"What time did you go to the kitchens?" he asked, his tone almost urgent.

"I don't know," she said. "Around midnight?"

He sat back, frowning in thought.

"Why?" Ginny asked.

"No reason," Draco said quickly, staring into the fire as he tried to work something out in his head.

"Ok…" she said slowly, exchanging a bewildered look with Hermione.

However, before their confusion had a chance to fade, Luna spoke, her hollow voice resonating in the eerie fashion of a prophesy being told.

"The end comes near, a masked beginning. Trust the one with the words you yearn to hear who stands beside the one who takes flight. Fear not the obvious, for he is true to the side that shall struggle with the dark," she said softly, the group staring at her with rapt attention. Then, as soon as the prophesy was spoken, her eyes cleared and she gazed curiously at them. "What was that you said?" she asked.

* * *

For an entire week, Draco observed Ron, noting the way in which he stepped back after offering a weak _petrificus totalus_ to the first year Hufflepuff that Nott and Pansy were tormenting, or the manner in which he would avoid any of his former friends, skirting around certain corridors and retracing his steps in lieu of not being seen. However, it was during one of his regular nightly rounds with Pansy that Draco began to truly suspect what was going on.

"You'll wait for me, won't you Drakey?" Pansy's simpering tone asked, hand outstretched to enter the girl's loo on the second floor.

"Yeah," Draco deadpanned, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he studied a portrait of an old man across from him.

The loo door swung shut with magically-assisted silence, Draco sighing relief that he finally had a moment to himself with out the screeching and incessant babbling of Pansy Parkinson. It curdled his insides, the girl's voice. Resting his head against the stone wall, Draco shut his eyes, resigning to enjoy the absolute silence that inhabited the hallway. However, hushed voices from the adjacent corridor caused him to groan and push himself away from the wall. Ears straining, he tried to discern what was being said, trying to decide whether or not he should bother with whoever was breaking curfew. Glancing at the closed loo door, he sighed and decided to keep up appearances, slowly wandering to the junction of the two corridors.

"No, no…it's ok…no, don't do that…"

Ron Weasley stood not too far from where Draco stood, peering around the corner. What appeared to be a second year Ravenclaw girl stood, near tears, in front of Ron.

"Please…please don't write me up," she cried, hands wringing nervously through the fabric of her pajamas. "I'll...I'll do anything…anything you want."

Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, he glanced up anxiously. Draco edged back, away from Ron's line of sight and glanced again at the loo door, it remaining shut.

"No, I won't write you up," he said.

The girl stopped crying. "Really?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

He nodded. "Yeah, as long as you don't tell anybody about this," he said.

"Oh…ok," she said, hands untwisting themselves.

Ron nodded once, then glanced down the hallway. "There's a staircase just over there." He pointed to where Draco couldn't see, though he knew of the spiraling stairs that took one directly from the second to the fourth floor that sat halfway down the hallway. "Take that…quickly…they're coming soon…"

Nodding, the girl turned and quickly disappeared from Draco's sight. Ron, glancing back once at the retreating Ravenclaw, continued walking. Hurriedly, Draco took three steps backwards, leaning once again along the wall outside the girl's loo, training his face to appear bored.

"What are you doing here?" Ron's caustic voice came from Draco's left a moment later.

Lazily, Draco turned. "Presumably, the same thing you're supposed to be doing," he said, raising an eyebrow, making sure Ron knew he heard everything.

Ron scowled. "Yeah? Well, I know…I know what…what…_you are_," he said, struggling to spit out the words. The magic that had bound his words against Draco earlier in the year still remained active.

"Do you now?" Draco asked, internally amused at the double meaning his statement had. Of course, Ron had to know about Draco being a spy, his alliance with his former friends a dead giveaway to the blond's intentions. However, what Draco was, how he was different from every living person, still remained a secret.

"Yeah."

"And…what are you going to do about that?" he asked, challenging the red headed Gryffindor.

Ron paused, appearing to think through his words. "Nothing," he grudgingly said, though there was confidence beneath his words.

"I see," Draco said.

Again, Ron fidgeted, hesitating with something he was trying to say. "And…and what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What are you going to say?"

"To who?" Draco asked innocently, inspecting his nails as he was at it, secretly thanking whoever blessed Pansy with the ability to take an absolute eon in the loo.

"You know who."

"No," he said, looking up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't."

Ron sighed, ears turning red with frustration and anger. "You bloody well know who I'm talking about," he nearly shouted, and then added in a hissed whisper, "_Harry_… Hermione…and the rest of my friends…"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that they're your friends, Weasley," Draco said as a bumbling noise made itself known down the adjacent corridor. He knew that noise, very well familiar with the sound Crabbe's footsteps made when it was absolutely silent. Ron paled at both the closing in footsteps and Draco's answer. Draco rolled his eyes. "But I'll let them know that you've reconsidered your decision from the start of the year."

"Thanks," he said lowly as Crabbe appeared from around the corner and Pansy exited the loo.

* * *

"Luna's prophesy…"

"What?"

"What does it tell us?"

The DA Core once again sat around the table in their hideaway room, half-empty mugs of steaming cocoa sitting among the O.W.L.S. notes that were scattered all over the place. A break in the monotony of studying had heralded Draco to relay what he had suspected about Ron.

"It's a trap, Malfoy," Harry said, though something in his eyes told everyone that he wished beyond everything that it wasn't a trap, and that he could have his best friend back.

"It could be," Draco said. "But I don't think so."

"Think of the prophesy," Hermione said again.

"It says we should believe him," Ginny said.

"He obviously has changed his mind," Neville said. "I think we should give him a chance."

Harry sighed, leaning back into the couch, one hand going to his face. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. The unspoken leader of the DA Core, his voice held the final decision, though at least Draco would be bound to object, purely on the principle of getting a rise out of Harry. "And if this is a trap?"

"He's still magically bound," Hermione said.

"We've got nothing to loose," Ginny said.

"All will fit into place," Luna followed.

Neville glanced at Luna. "I think we need a vote."

"A vote, Longbottom?" Draco sneered, though no hostility resided in his eyes.

To everybody's surprise, Neville stood his ground. "Yeah, it's only fair," he said confidently.

Everybody exchanged glances.

"I think we need to consider something first," Hermione said.

Harry looked over at Hermione. "And what's that?"

"How we're going to make sure he's telling the truth…that he's still loyal to us," she said.

Draco drew up to protest, his mouth already open, but Hermione stopped him with a hand risen to his chest.

"I'm not discounting your theory," she said, "but we need to be more than certain that he's truly on our side."

A moment of consideration passed through the group.

"She has a point," Ginny said.

"But isn't he still bound to the parchment he signed?" Harry asked. "We all are."

"He is," Hermione said, "but that only protects against him telling our secrets. It doesn't guarantee that he's telling the truth."

He nodded in understanding, his teeth working on his lip.

"This is simple, really," Draco said. "A truth potion."

* * *

It took a full week to gather the ingredients, Jaberknoll feathers being the most difficult to find, Harry and Neville sneaking out to Hogsmeade late one night beneath the roving eye of Umbridge and her legion of I.S. members combing through the castle. Another week was required to brew the potion, spring threatening to shift to summer that first week of June, though the DA Core hadn't a clue as they holed themselves up in the ever-shifting Room of Requirement, their noses trained over the bubbling cauldron. The first Friday in June marked the day that the truth serum was finally finished.

"Is it supposed to be that color?" Neville had asked, scrutinizing the murky gray color of the potion glistening in the cauldron.

Draco heaved a sigh. "Yes, Longbottom," he said, ladling the potion into a vial.

"Oh, right," Neville said, shifting away. Luna took his hand, smiling up at him.

"So, after classes we've decided?" Hermione said, cleaning up the potion ingredients scattered across the table, Ginny helping her.

"I'm scheduled to do rounds with him before dinner," Draco said. "I'll bring him here afterwards."

The finality of their decision hung in the air, the possibility of regaining their old friend pulling at their insides.

The day passed slowly, Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration dragging in the same manner as History of Magic. However, once the end of the day arrived, time seemed to speed up, racing through the afternoon until, before any of them realized, they were standing around Ron Weasley, their eyes trained upon him, all except Luna who was staring off into space with an odd glazed over look to her eyes, as he sat nervously in a chair in their hide-away room in the Room of Requirement.

"You know why you're here," Harry said, standing directly before Ron, the vial of truth serum in one hand.

Ron nodded.

Harry pushed the vial at Ron. "Drink this," he said.

Taking the vial, he popped the stopper, sniffing, his eyes bulging. "A truth serum?" he squawked, gazing around at the DA Core as if he couldn't believe that they were expecting him to drink the murky potion.

"We need to make sure you're not lying," Harry said. "We have to trust you in order to forgive you."

"By forcing me to take a truth potion?" Ron paled at the thought, the actual act of taking the potion not as bothersome as the meaning behind it. However, his betrayal hung over his head.

"It's not that we don't believe you, Ron," Hermione said.

"We want to believe you," Ginny said.

Ron looked down at the potion, rolling the vial between his fingers.

"It's for our peace of mind," Hermione said.

"You know what we're up against," Harry said.

He glanced up at Harry. "Umbridge," he muttered, returning his gaze to the potion. Taking a deep breath, he put the vial of serum to his mouth and downed the entire potion. Handing the empty vial to Hermione, he shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly before the potion took effect, Ron's eyes glazing over.

Hermione glanced at Harry, nodding that he should begin.

"What is your full name?" Harry asked.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," Ron answered.

"What year were you born?" he asked.

"1980."

Another exchange of glances passed through the group, Hermione stepping forward.

"Who are you loyal to?" she asked.

"Dumbledore," Ron said.

"What about Harry?"

"I'm loyal to him too."

"Why did you betray us?" Ginny spoke up.

"I didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I was angry," he spoke. "I thought I was being betrayed."

"Because of me," Draco said.

"Yes."

"What do you think now?" Harry said next.

"I was wrong," Ron said.

"Why do you think that?"

"I can see you're on our side," he said.

"We need to know that we can trust you," Harry said. "Can we trust you?"

"Yes," Ron said.

"We have another minute or so until the potion wears off," Hermione said, watching the clock, counting the seconds.

Harry glanced at the clock. "Why did you join the Inquisitorial Squad?" he asked.

"Dumbledore told me to," he replied.

"What?" Harry exclaimed more to himself than Ron, though Ron answered.

"He sent a message through Fawkes," he said. "A fight fought behind enemy lines is more noble than a fight not fought at all."

"Thirty seconds," Hermione said.

"So you joined the Inquisitorial Squad to do what exactly?" Harry asked quickly.

"Fight," Ron said.

"To help us, in the end?" Ginny asked.

"Yes."

By this time, the potion wore off, Ron blinking rapidly. He cast his eyes around at the six friends still circled around him. "So?" he said hesitantly, drawing the word out as he held onto the vowel.

And then, suddenly, a fist came from seemingly nowhere, colliding with the left side of Ron's face. Tumbling to the ground, he glared up at Draco, who was rubbing his knuckles as he sneered at the red head. "What the bloody hell was that for?" Ron demanded, glaring up at the blond.

"For being a wanker," Draco responded.

Hermione stood up. "And you're a prat, you know that?" she said, outstretching her hand. Warily, Ron took it, Hermione pulling him up and wrapping her arms around us. "But you're our prat," she said.

Harry thumped Ron on the back. "Right you are, Mate," he said.

Harry's acceptance seemed to open a barrier of sorts, the rest of the DA Core welcoming Ron back with a gaggle of elated voices punctuated by a series of punches, jabs, and smacks.

* * *

**A Special Note** – To thank all my readers and reviewers, I've made a video for Fire Dragon. It can be found here: www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?v(equal sign)bUe30TzRQnU

So, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


	42. Introeo Meri Nox Notis Absentis

**Author's Note** – And, here's another chapter…which actually means that I have the rest of Fire Dragon, up to the end, outlined. It's exciting the things I have planned for the DA Core. But Fire Dragon isn't close to being finished, considering the outline itself is eight pages long. It's strange knowing exactly what's going to happen and how things will end. Anyways, enjoy this next chapter and don't forget to review!

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely means, "Into the Midnight Mission," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That is mine, so don't steal it!

* * *

**Chapter Forty Two**

"Introeo Meri Nox Notis Absentis"

* * *

Ron's return seemed as if fate had been playing her part, his reintegration into the group natural and smooth. Before they knew it, he was privy to all their secrets, Draco's included.

"What the bloody hell?" he had predictably exclaimed the first time he'd seen Draco's wings.

Though surprised, he'd accepted the fact that Draco was not quite human, shrugging it off and challenging the Ignius to another round of chess. Astonishingly enough, to everybody's amazement, Ron and Draco had struck up a certain civility that bordered upon friendship. Their joint ability to thoroughly challenge the other in a game of chess seemed paramount to the success of their getting along.

"Check," Ron said one night mere days before the O.W.L.S were scheduled to commence.

The newly formulated DA Core, seven members instead of six, were scattered around the hide-away room in various stages of studying ranging from frantic hair-pulling frustration to the lackadaisical apathy contained in the fifth game of chess that hour.

"Oh bugger," Draco mumbled. Chin in hand, he studied the chess board, hand hovering over the pieces shouting words of advice up at him.

"Use me! Use me!" his knight proclaimed, jumping up and down within the boundaries of his tiny square.

"Don't listen to that blockhead," the rook said, crossing his arms. "The obvious answer is your queen."

Draco gritted his teeth together, ignoring his pieces.

"Come on, Malfoy," Ron goaded. "I don't have all day."

"Shut it, Weasley," he muttered, picking up a pawn and moving it up two squares.

Smirking, Ron picked up his knight, taking out Draco's rook. "Checkmate," he said, grinning, scooping up all the pieces.

Hearing the end of their game, Hermione glanced over from where she was currently buried in a myriad of parchment scrolls. "All finished then?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "You two need to study. The O.W.L.s are on Monday and you need to be prepared," she said smartly, a quill shoved behind an ear.

"Aw, Hermione," Ron complained. "All I've been doing is studying. My brain's all filled up."

"Now, Ronald-" she began.

"She's right," Draco cut in, getting to his feet. "Plus, I want to go over my notes on disillusionment charms."

Ron cast his gaze to his curly-haired friend. "Hey, Hermione, how'd you get him so wrapped around your finger?" he asked.

"Shove it, Weasley," Draco grumbled, though Hermione's answer overshadowed his embarrassment.

"Good training," she said innocently.

* * *

All too soon, the O.W.L.S were upon the fifth years, creating a mass panic throughout the school. Studying became the newest way to pass time, no fifth year student seen without their nose shoved in a textbook or scroll of notes. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were no longer periods of time to spend leisurely with their friends as they ate their meal. They became races, the speed and efficiency in which food could be shoved into the mouth, chewed, and not chocked upon matched up with number of pages read or feet of notes memorized, which were soon compared with the person across the table, studying methods exchanged and improved upon for the next meal.

Monday morning of the second week of O.W.L. exams, Hermione had a minor melt down directly before the Potions written exam.

"I've forgotten everything," she shrieked, flipping through her notes with one hand as the other pulled distressingly upon her hair. "Fluxweed…what are the five uses of fluxweed, Harry?"

"Hermione, calm down," he said, resting a hand on her arm. "Just calm down." Nervously, he shifted his feet, just as freaked out as his friend was, though he did a better job of hiding it.

Across the hallway, Draco smirked at the display Hermione was putting on. Beside him, the other Inquisitorial Squad members mirrored his expression, mistaking his expression of endearing amusement for the snide ridicule they expected him to exhibit.

Tuesday afternoon, a similar exchange of events occurred after the Care of Magical Creatures exam, Hermione pulling at her facial features as she went on about everything she was sure she missed, an imminent failure on the horizon in her opinion. It took ten minutes for Harry and then Ginny to get her babbling to stop, another five as Neville reassured her that a runespoor was indeed a three-headed snake native to Burkina Faso, a tiny country in West Africa, and yet five more for her breathing to return to a normal in and out tempo.

The next morning, Draco had to quickly talk Hermione down from a near panic attack as she babbled on about constellations and the meaning behind the Chinese Zodiac before their Astronomy theory exam.

"You're the smartest witch in our year," he said smoothly, hands bracing her shoulders as her eyes roved through their hide-away room. "You're not going to fail…you're going to do just fine."

"I know I'm going to forget," she said. "Taurus…what constellation is associated with Taurus…"

"Shh…Hermione…you need to stop…"

She looked up at him and frowned. "This is the most important test I will take in my lifetime. It will decide where I go in sixth and seventh year…and eventually what I will do when I graduate. Don't tell me that this does not matter," she scolded.

Sighing, Draco shook his head, Hermione returning to listing all the star systems in alphabetical order.

By the time Thursday rolled around, everybody was exhausted and grateful that only one exam remained: History of Magic. With the exam taking place in the afternoon, the fifth year students were given the morning off, many opting to sleep rather than study, their minds too warped with an O.W.L induced information overload. Hermione, however, to nobody's surprise, holed herself up in a vacant corner of the library, her History of Magic text open and five scrolls of carefully color-coded notes spread out across the table.

"The Goblin Wars of 1923," she muttered, flipping through her book as she scanned two lengths of neatly scripted notes simultaneously.

The library at that point in time was dead silent, groups of fifth year students scattered around the tables, hands buried in their hair and eyes shadowed by stress. Quietly, the doors opened, Draco slipping inside, a textbook under one arm. Scanning the tables of students, he quietly disappeared into the stacks of books, no one noticing his entrance. Finding Hermione in the back corner, as was typical, he took the chair across from her and gently closed her book.

"What?...Hey?!" She looked up, indignation and annoyance fluttering over her features.

Draco took the book and set it in his lap. "I think you need a break," he said.

He watched as her eyes grew panicked. "No…I can't take a break…I haven't even gotten through the Goblin Wars yet," she said, reaching down and retrieving another book, _An Intimate Review of Wizarding History_, by Harold Bore, if Draco remembered correctly as being one of her favorite quick-reads.

"Frankly, I think if you tried to shove anything else into that brain of yours, it'll explode," he said, staring at her openly, humor dancing behind his eyes.

Hermione frowned. "I have two hours until the next exam," she said. "I need to study."

"Granted," Draco continued, "watching a brain explode would be interesting…fascinating even…"

"Draco…" she growled.

"The fact that it would be yours would…" He waved his hands around as if searching for the appropriate word. "…lessen the appeal."

Hermione took a deep breath, glancing at her notes. "I can't right now," she said.

"Come on, Hermione," he pleaded, leaning forward.

"Can't we do this after exams?" she asked, searching for her quill among the myriad of parchments and open texts.

"I can't," he said, sitting back. "I've got rounds all night."

Finding the quill, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, tapping the feathered end against the table. Staring at all her notes, the books splayed open on the table, and the stack on the chair beside her, her head began to hurt, frustration and weary exhaustion prodding at her eyes. In all honesty, she could use a break.

"Please," Draco whispered, watching as her eyes betrayed the debate he knew was occurring within her mind.

Hermione bit her lip.

"…with treacle fudge on top…"

Her eyes drifted up to his.

"…and a cherry?"

"Ok," she said.

"Fantastic," he exclaimed, jumping from his seat and scooping up all her notes and books into one large pile.

"But on one condition," Hermione said, watching as he waved his wand, shrinking everything down to the size of a single book.

Draco paused. "And what's that?" he asked.

"That we stop by the kitchens," she said, dropping her things into her bag. "I missed lunch."

* * *

Though the passing of the O.W.L.s released much of the tension within the school, the DA Core was once again on high alert. Pacing the hallway, Draco remembered back to his History of Magic exam, Harry falling asleep, the apparent nightmare, and his screams as he fell out of his chair and onto the stone floor.

"Pressure from examinations," Professor Tofty had explained away, ushering Harry out into the hallway as the students had glanced around at each other in confusion.

The DA Core had exchanged meaningful gazes, knowing in their gut that something had happened. With the exam finished, Draco and Ron had left to attend to their I.S. rounds as the rest of their friends crowded around Harry, their voices rising in volume as Ginny and Luna joined them, learning of the going-ons of the History of Magic exam, and then fading as they disappeared around the corner.

Now, barely ten minutes later, Draco paced the second floor corridors, his basic instincts screaming that something serious was occurring. In the pit of his stomach, he felt his fire churn, as if subconsciously it knew that he would require its power. His wings strained against the magical bonds that held them not only in place against his back but invisible. Running a hand through his hair, he reached the corner of two adjacent corridors and paused as voices carried.

"We haven't got time to waste…" Draco recognized Harry's shouting voice.

"…we've got to check…"

"…use Umbridge's fire…"

"Department of Mysteries…"

Turning the corner, Draco quickly checked to make sure nobody else was in the general vicinity. "Psst," he hissed, quickly walking towards the DA Core as they practically ran down the hallway towards the staircases just beyond where Draco had been patrolling. "What's going on?"

"Harry's had a vision," Hermione said quickly.

"Sirius…he's got Sirius," Harry rambled in the quick pace of one on the verge of panic. "Voldemort's got Sirius…"

"We're looking for a fire," Ginny explained.

"And the only one open to the Floo Network is in Umbridge's office."

"We need someone to head off Umbridge," Hermione explained, her eyes roaming from one end of the hallway to the other as her ears pricked to catch any sign that anyone was coming.

"I'm on it," Draco said quickly, turning to sprint down the hallway he had just been pacing.

* * *

Ron, with his arms clasped behind his back, strode up and down the third floor corridor right outside the Transfiguration classroom. Humming to himself, he struggled to ease the growing anxiety plaguing him. Something had happened; in fact, it was still happening. Hands balling up into fists, he held them at his sides, cursing Umbridge, the Inquisitorial Squad, these stupid rounds, and anything within snapping distance. Harry was in trouble; he knew it. His best mate needed his help and all he could do was pace the hallway.

"Oi, Weasley!"

Turning, Ron tried not to groan as Montague and Warrington approached him, their Inquisitorial Squad badges proudly displayed on the front of their Slytherin robes.

"What is it?" Ron grumbled.

"Oh don't get your britches in a twist, Weasley," Montague said.

"Umbridge wants a meeting in twenty minutes," Warrington said.

Tersely, Ron nodded. "Alright," he said as his two least favorite squad members turned the corner.

* * *

Draco was nearly out of breath as he leapt down the staircase, jumping to the first floor landing as it decided to change up on him at the last moment. Gaining his bearings quickly, he ran down the hallway. However, before he gained ten meters, he collided with another person.

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy," Ron jeered jokingly.

Panting, Draco doubled over, trying to find his voice. "Can't…find…Umbridge…Harry…floo…have to…"

"What are you going on about?" Ron asked, confused.

Taking a deep breath, Draco explained what was going on and his mad quest to find Umbridge to do everything in his power to prevent her from coming even within sight of the DADA hallway.

Ron's eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets. "Oh shit," he exclaimed. "Umbridge is having a meeting in…" He checked his watch. "Barely ten minutes…"

Draco spat out a string of words expressing his displeasure, a string of smoke rising from his fingers as a tiny flame jumped to the ground and quickly sizzled out. "You go warn them…I'll head Umbridge off," Draco said.

Then, without another word, both boys took off down separate hallways, their stomachs in their throats and prayers to Merlin, God, and anything that may take pity upon their situation at the forefront of their minds.

Draco, however, didn't have to go far to find Umbridge. Racing up and then down another shifting staircase, he nearly ran into the Headmistress herself as she leisurely waddled down the hallway in the direction of her classroom.

"Headmistress," he called out, trying to catch his breath.

"Why, Mr. Malfoy, what's all the hurry?" she asked, smiling down at him.

He repressed a shudder as her double chins quivered as she spoke. "I was just up on the third floor…near the Transfiguration classroom," he said, trying to quickly put together a story that would draw her away from the first floor hallway, away from his friends.

"Yes?" she said, urging him onward.

"Peeves," he said, his brain seemingly chugging along at a snail's pace. "He's trashing the classroom…I heard him."

A single eyebrow on Umbridge's fleshy face rose, her lips thinning and her nose turning upward as she studied him. "Hmm…that is interesting, Mr. Malfoy," she said slowly.

He struggled to compose his face. "You better put a stop to it. I heard things breaking," he said.

"You did?" she asked, her voice condescending.

"Yes," he nodded.

"And?" she urged.

Draco frowned for a split second before schooling his face back into the dutiful squad member Umbridge would expect.

"And what else do you have to say Mr. Malfoy? Your story is interesting, indeed," she said.

His fingers twitched.

"You know why, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, folding her hands beneath her chest.

Draco paused, the air around him growing thick. He couldn't think.

"Do you know why your story interests me?" she asked.

"No, Headmistress," he managed to say.

"Your story has just confirmed my suspicions all along," she said, grinning like a cat that had just caught a naughty mouse. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, what do I say about dishonesty?"

"Dishonesty is dishonorable," he said, stomach clenching and heart pattering.

"Yes, yes it is," she said, her right hand wrapping around Draco's upper arm, her long nails digging into his skin.

As she dragged him away, Draco lost all his composure. "But…but…Peeves…he's in the Transfiguration classroom," he said, giving everything one last ditch effort of not turning into shambles.

"I'm sure you'll be surprised to learn, Mr. Malfoy," Umbridge spoke as she led him down the hallway towards the stairs, "that Peeves is in actuality in the Astronomy Tower. Do you know what Peeves is doing in the Astronomy Tower?"

Draco didn't answer.

"Do you, Mr. Malfoy?" Her hand tightened around his arm.

"N-No…no, Headmistress," he said.

Umbridge grinned. "He's smearing ink all over the telescopes," she said, pleased as pudding.

Swallowing thickly, Draco tried to quell the tremors that began in the tips of his fingers as they rounded a corner, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom now within view. With each step closer, Draco found himself praying that when Umbridge opened the door, she would find nothing, nothing that could incriminate him or his friends. However, the moment her hand wrapped around the doorknob, Draco's heart sank, the door swinging open to reveal that their efforts were in vain.

"Well, well, well," Umbridge cooed, pushing Draco into the room. "What do we have here?"

The DA Core stood in the middle of the room, members of the Inquisitorial Squad surrounding them at wand point, Ron and Montague staring each other down.

"I've found a traitor, Headmistress," Montague said.

"Two, in fact, my dear, Montague," she said, shoving Draco further into the room. "Restrain him," she demanded, Warrington quickly obeying by magically binding Draco's hands. Circling Draco, Umbridge smiled. "I'm sure your father will be pleased to hear where your true alliances lay, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "What do you think?"

Behind Draco, Hermione seethed. "I don't think it's anyone's business," she said, nearly spitting.

Umbridge rounded on Hermione. "Does the Mudblood have something to say?"

Turning beet red, Hermione's eyes widened at the slur that slipped effortlessly from her lips. "You…you can't…"

"I can't _what_, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked, leaning down.

Hermione pressed her lips together.

"Exactly," the Headmistress said.

"You can't do this," Harry spoke up.

"Oh, I can't?" she asked, her eyes roving over her obviously used fireplace, floo powder spilled on the ground and the lasting flames of the fire still burning a low light. "Who were you trying to contact, Mr. Potter, through _my_ fire?" she asked.

Harry steeled his face. "Nobody," he said.

Umbridge straightened her back. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

Leaning over, her nose nearly touching Harry's, Umbridge sneered. "Who were you speaking to, Mr. Potter?" she demanded.

Harry glared at the Headmistress. "Nobody," he said, tensing his shoulders.

Professor Umbridge repeated her question, raising her voice and attaching her hands to Harry's arms like a vice grip.

Wincing, Harry stood his ground as Umbridge ranted and raved about how she was in control, how the students of Hogwarts were under her power, and how little Gryffindors like Harry should abide by her rules.

And, still, Harry said nothing, the DA Core steeling their expressions and tensing their shoulders in support of their friend and leader.

Passing her eyes over the seven students held at wand point by her squad members, Umbridge straightened back up, her lips thinning as her eyes shone. "Alright," she said after she asked Harry the same question for the seventh time, even once threatening him with Veritaserum, the smashed remains of the potion and vial slicking the ground at their feet after he batted it from her hands. "If that's how we're going to go about this, Mr. Potter," she said, drawing her wand and pointing it at him. "I know of other ways to make you talk."

Gritting his teeth, Harry squared his shoulders.

Beside him, Hermione watched on with a lump of fear and dread in her throat. The cruel shimmer to Umbridge's eyes unsettled her.

"Now I will ask you one more time, Mr. Potter," she said, her wand gouging into Harry's chest. "_Who_ were you speaking to?"

And there was nothing, his answer remaining the same.

"If that's how it's going to be, Mr. Potter, then so be it," she said, her slimy grin stretching across her face as her eyes bulged with the anticipation of what she was planning on doing. "Crucio."

"Noooooo!"

A shout and a flash of bushy, brown hair was quickly followed by the sight of Hermione writhing on the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream as tears leaked from her eyes, her fingers clawing at the ground.

What happened next happened in a quick blur of motion, sound, and flames. Fire erupted from the middle of the room, licking at Umbridge's robes like playful fingers. It grew and spread, the windows shattering outward and the mewling kittens prancing around the china plates framed on the wall melting. The curtains caught fire, their fabric being consumed quickly by the flames. Smoke filled the room, obscuring everybody's vision, though the shouts and panicked efforts of Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad forcing their way to the door could be heard. However, something stood in their way, or rather, someone.

Headmistress Umbridge screamed, the pitch of her voice increasing as her eyes whirled around the room and the flames dancing in her face. Though the spontaneous combustion of her office frightened her, it was the figure standing in the way of the door, in the way of escape, that nearly petrified her.

The moment Umbridge had cast the torture curse upon Hermione, Draco had lost it, his hold on his fire exploding outward. Anger coursed through his body, burning through his veins and arteries as it singed his fingers and consumed all rational thought. Standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit, he snapped his wings outward, hands reaching downward as twin fireballs rotated in his palms. And he watched as the Headmistress screamed, her eyes growing wide and her mouth hanging open as insanity streamed from her lungs. Behind her, the Inquisitorial Squad pushed up against her, struggling to flee.

"Get out," he said, his voice strained. "Get out and _LEAVE_." The last word was screamed as he shoved the door open, eyes blazing as Umbridge high-tailed it out of her office and down the hall, flames still trailing her robes. The Inquisitorial Squad followed, their frenzied screams echoing up and down the hallways.

And then, as quickly as it had started, it ended, the flames extinguishing themselves and the smoke dissipating until the air was once again clean to breath. However, what was left behind was only a charred reminder of the room Delores Umbridge had made it. Calm once again diffusing into Draco, he retracted his wings, the black feathers disappearing beneath his magic. Then, stumbling forward, he dropped to his knees.

"Hermione?" he whispered, kneeling beside her as the rest of the DA Core crowded around the girl.

Groaning, she brought her hands to her face, her entire body aching, her nerves still firing phantom pain signals.

Beside her, Ginny rested a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Can you hear me?" Draco said, leaning down and brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

Looking up at him, she took a deep breath and shuddered.

"Can you stand?" Harry entered her line of vision, Ron's worried expression beside his.

She blinked and shook her head rapidly, trying to expel the pained fog that stuck to the edges of her mind. Then, a hand came to rest on her arm and warmth soaked into her skin, creeping along her limbs, easing the lingering pain. Taking another breath, she braced her hands on the ground and pushed herself up.

"Easy, love…"

"Don't push yourself…"

"I'm ok," she whispered, her throat stinging with the hoarseness she figured was due to screaming.

A hand took one arm as another took the other, helping her to her feet. Draco steadied her as she stood up, his eyes studying her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern washing through his features.

"Y-Yeah…yeah, I think so," she said, rubbing the back of her head, a sore spot emerging from where she'd hit her head as she fell to the ground.

Suddenly, a pair of warm arms were around her, a hand in her hair and words of concern and love whispered in her ear. Other hands came to rest on her back, her friends circling around her again as their voices shifted back and forth between their immediate relief and the punctuated jabs at Umbridge's humanity, parentage, and apparent lack of mental ability. Appreciative for all her friends, Hermione found her self melting into Draco's arms, the heat he was projecting at her comforting and reassuring. Though, at the back of her mind, another greater worry pestered. Reluctantly, she pulled away, giving everybody a grin as she ran a hand through her hair.

"I'm ok. Really, I am," she said when Ginny had reached out with disbelieving worry.

Beside her, Harry shifted, his mind returning to their previous mission that was taking shape before they were interrupted.

Hermione caught his gaze. "But we've got other things to worry about," she said, exchanging looks between her friends.

"Sirius," Harry said. "We have to leave…"

"He hasn't got much time," Hermione said, looking to the door.

"I'm with you, mate," Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

A chorus of agreements passed through the DA Core, their minds shifting Hermione to their up and coming mission to the Department of Mysteries. However, Draco had other things on his mind, and a voice in which to express them. As they turned for the door, he reached out and grabbed Hermione hand.

"Think this through, Hermione," he said.

She paused as did everybody. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Are you really up to this?"

She frowned. "Yes," she said.

"What if this is a trap?" he asked. "Have you thought of that? Do you know for certain that Sirius is at the Department of Mysteries?"

"I tried to firecall Sirius," Harry said, frowning at Draco's obvious hesitancy. "Kreature said he wasn't home…I can't just _not_ go."

Hermione tried to pull away from Draco. "I have to go, Draco."

"_Hermione_…wait, will you?" he asked.

"Malfoy," Ron then spoke up. "Either you're with us or you're not." His words were spoken calmly, but the challenge was as clear as day.

Breathing heavily, he glanced around at his friends and then at Hermione. "This is not a good idea," he said, hissing his words at her.

"Don't tell me…"

"No…you listen," he said forcefully. "I have a bad feeling about this…you can't go."

Pressing her lips together, she gave him a stony look. "Draco, I love you…but sometimes there are just things I _have_ to do," she said. "Now…are you with us or not? We can surely use your help."

"You were just _Crucioed_…you _can't_ go…I won't let you…"

"Oh, you won't, huh?" she bit back.

Grabbing her arm, he sneered. "Just try me."

Wrenching her arm from his grasp, she took a step back. "I have to do this…you don't understand…"

"Don't tell me what I don't understand…I understand perfectly…"

"Hermione…" Harry fidgeted at the door.

Hermione glanced at him and then at Draco. "I have to go," she said, leaning in to kiss him.

Pushing her away, he grabbed her arm again. "Don't go…"

"Let me go, Draco."

"Not until you hear me out."

"There isn't time…"

"_Hermione…"_

"I will ask you one more time, Draco…_**let me go**_."

He stood his ground.

Drawing her wand, she aimed it at his chest. "I mean it."

"Oh, and what are you going to do about it?" he taunted, eyeing the wand.

"Don't make me do this," she said, almost pleading with her eyes.

Draco ground his teeth together. "You're not going."

Pursing her lips, Hermione's nostrils flared. "I don't want to do this…please, don't make me do this…"

"Then don't…"

"Let me go…"

"No…"

"I swear, Draco…"

_"Hermione…_we have to go…"

"_NO!_"

"Then I'm sorry…"

"What for?"

"For this…_stupefy_," she said, grabbing his arm as he began to fall backwards. Quickly, Harry and Neville were at her side, easing Draco to the ground. Gently laying him on the floor, Hermione straightened up, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered before looking up. "Alright, I'm ready."

And with nothing but a locking charm cast upon the door, the DA Core, lacking one member, was gone.


	43. Fatum Consilium

**Author's Note - **All I have to say is: Ugh, writer's block. I'm not making any comments about when chapter 44 will be out. It may be a while.

**Another Note** - The chapter title loosely means, "Fate's Plan," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Forty Three**

"Fatum Consilium"

* * *

Regaining consciousness was like pulling oneself up from the depths of a lake, the water dragging down on your limbs as you struggled to the surface. Everything fogged, things blurring around the edges, color muting as did sound, muffled voices swirling around in incessant circles. Hermione forced her mind to the surface, wading through the thick pulls of sleep and the disjointed memories floating through her brain. Blinking her eyes blearily, as if just waking from a night's sleep, she stared up at the white ceiling, taking note of the sterile scent of the room, no doubt courtesy of a hygienic spell. The hospital wing, she was in the hospital wing.

Fractured memories of the night before floated to the forefront of her thoughts, confusion thwarting clarity of any sort. Letting her lack of understanding go for the moment, she wiggled her toes and then her fingers, following afterwards with a bodily check that everything worked. Her legs shifted, bending at the knee as she took a deep breath, her lungs feeling clear and unharmed. Lifting her right arm with ease, she quickly drew to the edge of panic as her left felt numb and weighted down. Eyes widening, she turned her head, noting her stiff neck that drew down her entire spine. Relief then calmed her heart as a head of messy, blond hair filled her vision.

Draco slept in the chair beside her with his head and arms resting on her bed, one hand clutched around her left arm, his fingers tight. Reaching over with her free arm, she ran a hand through his hair, the soft stands falling back into place. Mumbling at the touch, he shifted, not too far from the surface of wakefulness. Carefully, she traced the muscles of his arm, watching as the hairs stood on end. Then, with a gasp, he sat up, eyes wide yet still hooded with sleep. Blinking rapidly, he shifted his gaze down to her. Immediately, he was at her side, a hand buried in her hair, his thumb gracing the side of her face.

"Hermione," he whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were trapped in the parched environment of her throat. Realizing her problem, he turned and quickly produced a glass of water, holding it to her mouth so she could drink.

"Thank you," she then whispered, Draco returning the water to the table.

He gave her a small smile, running a hand through her hair again, his fingers getting caught in the messy curls. As he gazed down at her, she studied his features, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he twisted his neck to the side, the vertebrae popping. Judging by the brightness of the hospital wing, she would have to guess it was midday. And guessing by Draco's disheveled clothing, she would have to surmise that he spent the night at her bedside. A finger ran down his nose as another swept beneath one of his eyes.

"You look tired," she said softly.

Draco smiled wanly. "I was up half the night worrying about you," he said.

"I'm sorry…"

He didn't answer.

"What happened?" she then ventured, her broken memories nagging at the back of her mind.

"You don't remember?"

"I…" she hesitated. "We were at the Department of Mysteries…I was hit by a curse…"

"How about before that?"

Frowning, she bit her lip, fingers fidgeting with the bleached white blanket thrown over her body. "Before that? We…we were…" She looked up into his eyes and felt as if she wanted to shrink back into her self. A dark shadow had taken residence in the outlying border. She tried to remember, squinting her eyes in effort to dredge up the memory. Something had happened, apart from the Department of Mysteries; it was there, just beneath the surface of her recollection. "I…I don't remember," she said, disturbed by the lack of the memory.

He sank down on the mattress, body supported by his arms, hair falling over his eyes, and his expression critical as he ran his gaze over her. For a moment, it appeared like he wanted to say something; she could almost see the words ready to spill henceforth from his lips. However, all he did was shake his head. "Nevermind," he mumbled. "How do you feel?"

Offset by the direct change of subject, she took a moment to answer. "Ok," she said hesitantly. "My head hurts."

"Do you want me to get Pomfrey?" he asked, moving as if to get up from his position slouched against the bed.

She shook her head, wincing slightly as a hand went to rub away the ache. "No, it's just an ache," she said.

"Are you sure?" he asked, worry dotting through his silver eyes.

"Yes," she said.

A pregnant pause.

"How…how are…how is…"

"They're fine," Draco said. "Luna's fine…Longbottom broke his nose…and the Weaslette hurt her ankle…"

"What about Harry…Ron?"

"Potter's fine," he said. "Weasley…" He hesitated.

"What?" she asked. "What happened to Ron?"

"I'm not sure, but from what I've gathered he was hurt pretty badly."

Hermione wailed quietly.

"Jeez, Hermione," Draco said. "He's not dying. Pomfrey said he'll be fine…in time."

Eyes still wide, she cast her eyes around the curtain pulled around her bed. "I want to see him…I want to see my friends." Trying to get herself into a more upright position, Draco grabbed her arm.

"I don't think so," he said, pushing her gently.

"Let me go," she said, trying to tug her arm out of his grip.

"No," he said, leaning in real close. "We need to talk."

Hermione paused, reading his eyes, her stomach growing heavy with dread.

"Ok," she whispered.

"What do you remember?" repeating the question from earlier.

"I…I remember…the Department of Mysteries…"

"Before that," he reiterated.

She stared at him, his eyes having grown cold. Her stomach followed in suit, icing over.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"You tell me," he said coldly.

She looked away, frowning as she tried to remember.

"Look at me, Hermione," Draco demanded softly.

Reluctantly, she obliged his request.

"You honestly don't remember?"

She bit her lip. "I…I remember…bits and pieces," she said.

"You remember Umbridge's office?" he asked, staring her in the eye.

Images of the pink adorned room flew through her mind's eye. "Yes," she said, more pictures formulating in her brain. "There was fire…and smoke…you…you…"

Draco nodded. "She crucioed you," he said. "But after that…"

Hermione sighed, her aching head turning into a persistent nagging that drew to the front of her consciousness. The light streaming through the hospital wing began to hurt her eyes. A lump formed in her throat as memories righted themselves, the story of the previous night beginning to make sense. "We had to go…Sirius needed us…Harry…"

Draco nodded. "I didn't want you to go," he said.

"And then…then I…" And then she remembered, the memory growing caustic the moment it slid into place. "Oh god," she whispered, eyes flooding with tears.

Draco drew back, removing his arms from her bed. Sitting beside her, he stared at her, his silver eyes cold and vastly different to the warmth that was usually projected.

"I need to know that I can trust you," he said evenly, hands in his lap as he looked at her.

Hermione opened her mouth, tears filling her eyes. "You can always trust me."

Draco closed his eyes, clenching his fingers against the wave of emotions he felt. "You _cursed_ me," he said. "And for no good reason either."

"I had to help Harry," Hermione said.

"And what good did that do?"

"He's one of my best friends."

"Again…what good did that do? You're laying here in the hospital wing now," he said. "Are you looking for a chance to get yourself killed?"

"No…" she said, trailing off at the end as she realized she didn't know what to say. She looked away.

"Hermione, look at me."

She scrunched her face up, studying the faint pattern inlaid in the curtains surrounding her bed.

"Look at me," Draco repeated, the request a demand.

Slowly, Hermione turned her head, her belly aching with the dread filling it.

"I would like you to know," he said, leaning in towards her, "that I would _never_ do that to you. My respect for you is far too high."

His words hurt, a stabbing pain that originated in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Draco paused. "I know," he said quietly.

"It won't happen again."

"It won't," he said, his words speaking to the fact that _he_ would prevent it from happening again.

Everything blurred beneath the tears that spilled down her face, her head throbbing and her chest aching.

"What am I going to do, Hermione?" he asked. "You're the only person I can completely trust."

Trapped sobs replaced words. Shame and regret ached and swelled, throbbing along with the fear that she might have lost Draco, lost his trust. Not being able to withstand anything else, she turned on her side, her back to Draco, and curled in on herself. She covered her face, still aware of his figure behind her.

"So, it's going to be like that?" he said. "You're not even going to talk to me?"

Again, words evaded her self control.

She heard his sigh and the rustling of his robes as he stood up. For several long moments, there was nothing, and she imagined him running a hand through his hair before turning and walking away. However, instead, she felt the mattress shift, a body coming to reside behind her and an arm wrapping around her waist. More tears poured forward as she turned over, burying her nose in his chest. He smelled warm and clean.

"I'm sorry," she cried, her words jumbled by emotion. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he soothed. "I know."

"I don't know what I was thinking…I was stupid and thoughtless," she said.

"We all have stupid moments," he said. "I just wish yours hadn't been directed at me." His voice lightened, an attempt to brighten up the situation.

However, his efforts only caused a low wail from Hermione. "I was impulsive…and irrational…I-I was…I was disrespectful," she cried into his chest.

Sighing, Draco kissed the top of her head. "You made a bloody bad choice," he said. "You really did, Hermione. But I'll get over it…we'll get over it."

Hermione sniffled.

"I know I've done and said some awful things to you in the past," he said.

"It doesn't make it right," Hermione said, closing her eyes, fatigue pulling at her senses.

Draco peeked down at her. "You need to get some rest."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again.

"I know," he said. "I'll be right here though."

* * *

The next morning, the Daily Prophet drew the evidence together that proved what the DA Core had known all along: Voldemort had returned. Splashed across the front page, the headline _Voldemort Returns_, screamed out to the wizarding public. Panic gripped the country, parents arriving at Hogwart's doorstep to retrieve their children themselves no matter the fact that the school year had ended. Finally, after months of utter chaos under the rule of Delores Umbridge, business at Hogwarts was finally returning to normal.

The Ministry of Magic had released a full pardon on Albus Dumbledore, apologizing for their momentary lapse in judgment and cowardly ways. Not too soon after, Hogwarts' headmaster returned to the school, the halls of Hogwarts brightening with his presence. After the Department of Mysteries, Delores Umbridge disappeared, the latest rumor being that she was holed up on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries believing she was on fire. A top secret source managed to relay their sightings to the students of Hogwarts of her running down the hallways, her hair askew, as she screamed bloody murder about her robes being aflame.

After the Daily Prophet announced Voldemort's return, they featured an evening post article on the deatheaters captured, now being held in Azkaban awaiting trial. Reading through the article, Draco took note that his father's name was not mentioned. Lucius Malfoy still ran free, evading the Ministry's reach. The knowledge that an existence without his father had been momentarily within reach before being torn away ate away at Draco's mind.

The morning of the last day of school, the remaining students that still resided within the castle sat down to breakfast. As was usual, the Daily Prophet descended from the upper rafters of the Great Hall, as did the morning post. Draco, halfway finished with a neat stack of buttered toast, glanced up at the owls careening around the cavernous Great Hall, dread filling his belly. In the few days since the Department of Mysteries mission, his father had been sending daily correspondence to Draco, prepping him for the inevitable.

_A tentative date has been set for your initiation this summer…_

_You are a Malfoy. Honor your family…_

_As my son, I am proud of you._

_Others have been chosen to be initiated as well…_

_Nott…Parkinson…Crabbe…Goyle…_

It seemed that there was no way out; he was trapped. His friends, the DA Core, sympathized with him, offering him encouragement and advice that fell flat for one reason, and one reason only: there was nothing that anyone could do. Draco had avoided and dreaded his destiny since first year. Being a deatheater was written in the stars, he supposed. Life for him was planned since birth; he had no choice. Fear resided constantly in his chest, trepidation in his limbs, and loathing in his heart for the man he had called Father.

However, what Draco didn't count on was perception. What he saw as the stars laying out his destiny as his worst nightmare, was in actuality the fates paving a road of obstacles. The hurdles Draco had jumped lead to one point in time and one letter. Precisely at the moment that Draco thought he would scream with the building pressure that his life had pressed upon him, the letter that was fated to arrive that exact morning dropped directly atop his stack of partially eaten toast.

The words contained within the folded parchment seemed ordinary enough and lacked the flair that one would imagine words that would change the course of a person's life would have. And as they were written, the words were read as such.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_I require a meeting with you at exactly 1:30 pm in my office._

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore._

* * *

Hermione anxiously paced the tiny area between Harry and Ron as she waited in the Entrance Hall to be lead to the carriages, Crookshank's carrier in her hand. Her trunk had been packed the previous night, the houseelves taking it that morning. Home was on her agenda, her need to see her family presiding over everything else. Her mother had written her the other morning, learning of the battle at the Department of Mysteries, worry and concern being broadcasted from her words. Hermione had responded with reassurance that she was alright and expressed her desire to return home; even she anticipated the summer holiday that year.

However, it seemed Draco had pulled another one of his disappearing acts. She pushed down the automatic worry that welled up within her, telling herself that he was most likely running late. Yet, her hands still wrung with concern and her heart hammered with all the possibilities that ran through her head. Her mind had always been one to take a thought and run with it. A quick glance to the large clock on the wall told of ten minutes before departure, the second hand ticking on and on, passing the time.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, what could have been a trick of light in any other parallel life of hers caught her attention. Turning her head, she watched as a tiny light, no, a tiny flame crept across the stone flags clear across the Entrance Hall. Frowning, she scanned the surrounding area, eyes skimming over the staircase that lead to the upper floors of Hogwarts and the corridor that took one towards the kitchens. Around the corner of the hallway, a blond head peeked out from a shadow, a pale hand beckoned.

Setting Crookshank's carrier down next to Hedwig's cage, she touched Harry on the arm. "I'll be just a minute," she said, interrupting their quidditch conversation before walking away. Weaving through the bodies of students, she looked back briefly before ducking into the corridor.

"Hi," Draco said, grinning.

She frowned. "Draco! Where have you been?" she asked, slightly disturbed by the grin on his face knowing the fate he would face that summer, unless…

"That's what I have to talk to you about," he said, grabbing her arm and gently dragging her further down the deserted hallway. "I'm not even supposed to be down here." He tilted his head, craning his neck to peek out into the Entrance Hall, satisfying himself that nobody was looking that way.

"Why?" she asked, shaking her head. "What's going on, Draco?"

"I had a meeting with Dumbledore this afternoon," he said.

Hermione's eyes widened and a flutter of elation touched her heart. "You did?!"

He nodded.

"What'd he say?"

"He's offering me protection," he said. "I'm going into hiding this summer."

Squealing, Hermione leapt up and wrapped her arms around Draco's neck. "See," she said. "I told you he would pull through!"

His grin widening, he breathed in her hair, tightening his arms around her waist. "I can't say where I'm going to be," he said elusively, "but he said we should see each other mid-July."

Hermione smiled at that, knowing immediately where Draco would be spending his summer. Grimmauld Place. "Can I still owl you?" she asked.

Draco's face fell slightly. "He says there's to be no contact from the outside world," he said. "For my own protection."

"What about Hogwarts? Your sixth year?" Hermione asked.

"I'll still be there," he said. "Hogwarts is the safest place after all."

"But your Father."

"Dumbledore has his ways," Draco said.

Hermione nodded. "He sure does."

"Everything will be ok, though," he said and then paused, his hand reaching out to brush her arm. "I'll miss you."

Her eyes watered and she turned, bringing a hand to her face. "Oh, I can't believe I'm getting all emotional about this," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's just a few weeks."

"Exactly," he said. "And those few weeks will just fly by. Plus, aren't you traveling this summer with your parents?"

She nodded, smiling up at him. "A two week trip to Australia and then another two weeks in the States."

"Bring me back something?" he asked, biting his lip and wagging his eyebrows.

Laughing, she swatted him on the shoulder. "Subtle, aren't we?"

"Well, I wasn't going to let the opportunity for gifts to pass," he said, ducking another playful smack she aimed at his chest.

"You're just awful, Draco Malfoy," she said, and then paused. "But, yes, I'll bring you back something nice."

"Just nice? How about something bloody awesome?"

Scoffing, she rolled his eyes. "Beggars can't be choosers," she said.

Off in the distance, Professor McGonagall's voice could be heard announcing that the carriages were ready to transport them to the Hogsmeade train station.

Hermione glanced down the hallway and then back at Draco, her eyes misting over again. "I have to go," she said.

"I'll miss you," Draco said again.

"Mid-July," she said, standing up on tip-toe to kiss him.

What she intended to be a simple kiss turned into a deep expression of the longing for each other already present in both Draco and Hermione. Draco pulled her closer, Hermione feeling her knees going to jelly. However, the increased tempo of noise carrying down the hallway of students leaving Hogwarts for the summer caused her to pull away.

"I have to go," she said.

"I know," he said, dipping for one last kiss before she turned and walked off.

Watching her leave, Draco took a deep breath, fear intertwining delicately with the relief that settled into his body the moment Dumbledore had offered him safety and a chance to live his own life. Though he trusted Dumbledore with his life, he knew his father would be irate the moment Draco didn't step off the Hogwarts Express that evening, gradually putting together the pieces of his son's betrayal. Of that, Draco feared.


	44. Torvum Aestas: Pars Partis Unus

**Author's Note – **First, I would like to dedicate this next chapter to my friend, Tree. Without her lovely comment to my Facebook wall, this chapter would not be up right now. Thanks! And, as always, I do try to get my chapters out in a timely fashion. However, school does get in the way. Anatomy and Physiology is hard. Lots to remember. Anyways, there's another note at the end of this chapter about something that is coming up that will have something to do with Fire Dragon.

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely means, "A Grim Summer: Part One," in Latin.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter. JKR is the proud owner. However, I do own the concept of the Ignius. Ask before you take.

* * *

**Chapter Forty Four**

"Torvum Aestas: Pars Partis Unus"

* * *

Draco Malfoy, looking at his life as he currently lived it, existed in a surreal universe. When he was three, his father taught him how to properly pronounce, "old coot," in reference to Albus Dumbledore, quickly following with such terms as, "doddering old fool" and "mudblood lover." Yet, just a mere three days ago, Draco entrusted his entire life to the aged wizard as he followed Dumbledore through the floo in his office, landing gracefully, for all Malfoys were graceful when traveling via floo, in an old and dusty house.

"Where are we, sir?" he had asked, his eyes wandering from the faded portraits gazing at them with barely veiled disgust to the old, dark blue, paisley rug, bits worn almost clear through, the dark boards of the floor showing through in places.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," the headmaster answered. "And I would remember that particular bit of information if I were you on the off chance that you were to step foot outside these walls."

Draco frowned. "Wait, but isn't that…"

"The House of Black, yes," he answered. "Though now it belongs to a young man I believe you have struck up a friendship with." Dumbledore peered at Draco over the top of his spectacles.

And here was where Draco delved even deeper into the strange world he was quickly beginning to surround himself with. Five years ago, Draco first met Harry Potter in Madam Malkin's as her enchanted measuring tape zipped around him, calculating the exact measurements for his first set of Hogwarts robes. For four years, their animosity was legendary throughout the halls of Hogwarts, their enmity and hatred overshadowing any potential for understanding that would have lead to friendship. And now, Draco was living in his house, his things neatly filling the drawers and cupboards in the blue room on the second floor right off of the landing, and referring to Potter as not an enemy but as a friend.

If his father were to see him now, Draco was positive that his father would not even hesitate in killing him, stringing along his dwindling life in hours of agonizing torture. Descending the stone steps leading into the basement kitchen, Draco shuddered at the notion, that particular train of thought instilling far too much realism into his life than he personally preferred.

The first two days of Draco's summer at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he had had the place to himself, with the exception of Kreature and Mrs. Black's cantankerous portrait hanging in the front entrance, both of which Draco dismissed with an arrogant remark before moving on. Days later, Grimmauld Place welcomed four additional people, Mrs. Black screeching about the low life, muggle-loving scum who hadn't a care for blood purity or birth control that were trampling through her house. And Draco, following with the unreal direction of his summer, found himself not only enjoying but searching out select Weasleys, who were now camping out in Harry's house for the summer at Dumbledore's request, on a whim because he frankly enjoyed their presence. Entering into the kitchen, the drifting aroma of breakfast drawing him down from his second floor bedroom, he smiled at Mrs. Weasley as she busied herself at the stove, making breakfast.

At the table, Ron and Ginny fought over a quickly diminishing stack of buttered toast as Fred and George, visiting that morning from their newly-leased store in Diagon Alley, whispered and contrived together with their heads pushed so close their red hair was one never-ending mass. The matching pair of neon green, dragon skin suits they wore clashed with their hair in almost a comical fashion, a fashion in which one might theorize had been planned upon.

"Do you have to be such a pig when you eat?" Ginny admonished, grabbing two pieces of toast before Ron pushed the rest of the stack onto his plate.

"Mum'll make more," he said, shoving half a piece of toast into his mouth.

Draco began to repress the urge to sneer, but then upon consideration of Ron's savage table manners, allowed himself to fully indulge in the expression. "That is positively repulsive, Weasley," he said, his nose upturned as he deftly snatched two pieces of toast from Ron's plate.

"Hey!" Ron said around a mouthful of half-chewed bread, a glower descending upon his already scrunched features. "You give those back."

"Ronald Weasley! You slow down," Mrs. Weasley said at a near shout, hands positioned sternly upon her hips before bustling over to the table to set down a steaming platter of eggs. "Morning, dear," she said, turning towards Draco.

Conversing with not only one Weasley, but almost the entire family on a level of pleasantries, not one scathing remark passing forth from his lips, Draco was doubly sure his father would annihilate him upon first sight. In fact, he was sure his grandfather was rolling over in his grave that very moment, contemplating rising up to join the legions of the undead in order to aid Lucius. In over one hundred years, Draco was the first Malfoy to divert to the other side, the light side, denouncing the Dark Arts and the Dark Lord. Blasphemy, treason, and betrayal didn't even begin to add up to what his charges would be in a court of deatheaters. The curses and hexes they would cast upon Draco would have filled seven feet of parchment, though Draco worked steadily to keep thoughts as such from his mind. His world was too chaotic, dangerous, and treacherous to meddle in notions of what could have been, not to mention nightmare-inducing.

However, sitting among the pack of Weasleys, eating at the same table and of the same food prepared by the matriarch of the family, tiny flutterings of longing swelled up from the pit of his stomach. Spending even half a day in the presence of their family sprouted an ache in his heart that had him retreating to his bedroom, the afternoon spent brooding in front of the window, the rainstorm outside matching his mood. It became so obvious what Draco was missing from his life. His family held no spark to the warmth and companionship the Weasleys held as a family, no matter the house they occupied or what squabbles had them nose to nose.

Back in the kitchen, in the here and now, the morning owl post soared in through the magically charmed window, dropping off various pieces of post on the table, a few issues of the Daily Prophet landing with soft _thunks_ atop the wood.

"Oi, got one from Harry!" Ron exclaimed, tearing off the string as Ginny scooted closer to read over his shoulder. Draco craned his neck, the twins lending an ear between their continued whisperings about this experiment and that invention.

Molly watched as the children hovered around Ron as he read the few sentences Harry had written down in his letter to reassure everybody that he was alright. Though she listened, her eyes watched Draco intently without his knowing, concern worrying the creases lining her forehead. Never had she felt such raw fear for another person. He was not only betraying his own father, but indirectly You-Know-Who as well. His future was so uncertain, so wrought in peril. And to think he was the son of one of You-Know-Who's most trusted deatheaters, a Malfoy, from the family the Weasleys have been quarreling with for centuries. He was a sweet boy, though, well mannered and polite. Molly certainly had her trepidations when Dumbledore informed her of the guest who would be staying with them at Grimmauld Place that summer. Her children had spent years upon years cursing his name, the stories they had brought home with them from school about the blond haired boy had often angered her. However, situations had changed, and a child was in danger. Gripping the dishtowel in her hands, her eyes flicked to the black feathered wings stretched out behind Draco.

"There is something else you need to understand about Draco Malfoy," Albus had said while briefing the Weasley family. "Before the Daily Prophet runs off with their rumors."

An Ignius. The notion was almost laughable, until she came face to face with the myth himself. Of course, Molly had heard the fables growing up; she'd shared them with her own children. But never, never in all the years that existed in the known universe had she even entertained the thought that Ignii were real outside the myths, let alone that one was going to spend the summer with her and her family. She hadn't believed it at first. Honestly, who would? When her family had arrived at Grimmauld Place, a mere two days after the summer holidays had begun for the children, Draco Malfoy had appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Dressed in a pair of black slacks and a green t-shirt, he looked as normal as her own children, until his wings materialized behind him. And the rumors Albus predicted the Daily Prophet would wallow in were well on their way to being ridiculous. However, what was one to expect from a publication prone to propaganda and lies?

Finished with his breakfast, Draco gathered up his issue of the newspaper and dropped his dirty dishes in the sink.

"Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley," he said to Molly.

Molly blushed with pride. "Not a problem at all, dear," she said.

Sending a glance at Ron and Ginny, he ducked out of the kitchen, shaking open the paper as he climbed the stairs. All the expected headlines were present, bold and flashy in their lettering, communicating nothing but lies and speculation. However, what more was to be expected of the Daily Prophet? A bandwagon they had created, so a bandwagon they would run.

* * *

That night after dinner had been eaten, dishes swept into the sink with Mrs. Weasley's wand, and the children shooed upstairs, Draco, Ron, and Ginny congregated in a small circle on the floor of the boys' bedroom, a game of Gobstones in session between them. Clutter and a disorganized array of clean and dirty clothes were spread around the room, Ron's side of the room a far cry messier than the rest.

"Ron! Do you have to leave these laying around?" Ginny had shouted after stepping upon a used pair of boy's knickers laying haphazardly in the middle of the space between his bed and the empty one Harry would eventually occupy.

"It's bloke territory," Ron had said, glancing over at Draco.

Draco nodded as he flopped down on his bed. On the floor beside his bed, a messy pile of days old newspapers lay half hidden under his bed that he, for a reason unknown to him, felt loathe to rid his existence of. Various headlines stuck out. _Draco Malfoy: The Mythological Ignius_ was partially covered by _The DA Core: Dumbledore's New Army?_ and _The Chosen One Has Arrived_, _Deatheaters Rounded Up at Ministry _skittering down the pile at an angle.

"It's your go, Weasley," Draco muttered, tossing the few Gobstones still in his possession into the air as Ron went about his turn, adding two green stones to the pile on the floor.

As Ginny went to contemplate the statistics of her yellow stones beating out over the green and red ones already in the pool, Mrs. Black's portrait began to screech downstairs. The muffled attempts to get her to shut it followed moments later as a commotion swelled in volume over the noise of the portrait, its undulating tones rising up the stairs in a curious fashion.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked.

Ginny, getting to her feet, pressed an ear to the door, her hand gripping the doorknob. Ron and Draco flanked her in curiosity. Voices could be heard from the bottom of the stairs, words jumbled and murmured, unintelligible to their ears. Opening the door, the three silently crept out into the hallway.

"You think they're having another meeting?" Ron asked.

"They just had one last night," Draco remarked.

"Maybe something happened," Ginny followed.

"Oi, catch," Ron whispered to Ginny and Draco.

Turning, they each caught one of the pale, flesh-colored Extendable Ears as it flew through the air.

"Brilliant," Ginny said quietly as Draco uncoiled his.

Extendable Ears tucked into their ears, they all dropped to their bellies, their ears perked and their eyes peeled for the activity below. A small mass of people crowded into the entryway like a tin of sardines, the door still opened, a few more people filtering into the house. They recognized a handful of the Order members they knew of; Kingsley Shacklebolt, the top of his bald head shining brilliantly though the light was dim; Tonks, her hair a dreadful color of brown; Moody, his ever-wandering magical eye swiveling in its socket. Other Order members they didn't recognize swarmed the entryway until one last figure was ushered into the house, Remus Lupin supporting most of his body weight.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "He's looking poorly."

"As is to be expected," someone else said.

"Get him to the kitchen…"

"I'm fine," the figure grumbled. "Just get me into the damn dining room."

The children upstairs exchanged glances. They knew that voice; they knew that voice all too well. Severus Snape limped into and then out of their eyesight, their Extendable Ears picking up far more than what their eyes could see.

"Was it You-Know-Who?" somebody asked.

"Yes," Snape answered. "Where's Albus. I need Albus."

"He's on his way."

They made their way into the dinning room, the door closing and the Extendable Ears only picking up garbled bits of conversation.

"…a meeting with…"

"…plans, great and terrible plans…"

"…he has no trust in..."

"…Lucius Malfoy…he wants Lucius and I to kill…"

Straining their ears to hear more, their curiosities more than piqued, the three were soon interrupted by hurried footsteps on the stairs and the scolding voice of Mrs. Weasley put a damper on their shenanigans.

"Shoo! All of you," she screeched, hurtling up the stairs at a frenzied pace.

The three of them scrambled to their feet, Ron and Ginny looking disappointed, Draco shameful.

"Aww, but we weren't doing anything, Mum," Ron said. "Honest."

"In your rooms," she demanded, pointing at their open doors.

"But, Mum…"

"We weren't…"

Sternly, Molly eyed Ron and Ginny, both of them halting in the middle of their sentences. "Back in your rooms, right now," she ordered, herding her children and Draco back into their rooms. "And you are not to come out, and don't you dare use those…those hideous devices," she said in reference to the Extendable Ears still dangling limply from their fingers. Thoroughly cowed, their snooping plans thwarted, the Weasley children and Draco retreated to their room, mumbling curses beneath their breath. Something was going on downstairs, and once again, their lack of aged years prevented them from listening in on potentially important information, Order meetings strictly attended by those of adult status.

However, before any of them would realize, their attentions would be pulled from the events occurring below as a commotion at the window drew their gazes. Heads turning, they watched as a black feathered owl, a letter in its beak, flew into the opened window and then, as if striking an invisible wall, fell promptly out of sight. Reappearing moment later, it flung itself at the window over and over again, an unseen magical barrier preventing its entry. Broken feathers fluttered downwards and out of view in a frenzy of movement as the bird, either from exhaustion or injury, dropped from their view.

* * *

For an entire week, various owls carrying letters Draco knew were from his father threw themselves against the barriers protecting Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. And they were most certainly from his father; he had no doubt about that. With the house charmed to protect him, barring his father any communication with Draco, it was the only logical explanation. And all the while, Mrs. Weasley worried herself over Draco, Ginny and Ron equally so, though Draco preferred to pretend that everything was alright, regardless of the situation at hand. And throughout the mess, the Daily Prophet kept pumping out headlines.

**THE MISSING MALFOY: THE CONNECTION TO HARRY POTTER**

**DRACO MALFOY SPOTTED IN DIAGON ALLEY**

**SECRET COVEN OF IGNII FOUND IN AFRICA**

For a week, Draco persisted in convincing himself that nothing was out of the ordinary, going about his daily tasks with his usual efficiency and diligence. It wasn't until the second Saturday in July, when Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place, did he finally let his struggling exterior crack.

"Hey," Hermione said, sitting down on the bed beside Draco. "Mrs. Weasley says you've taken to hiding up here."

"I'm not hiding," he said over the fiction novel he had grabbed that morning after breakfast.

Glancing around the room, taking in the drawn curtains and the few empty water glasses sitting on his desk, she turned back to Draco. "It certainly looks like it, and what's with all these newspapers?" she asked, toeing at the growing stack of partially singed editions of the Daily Prophet, a few select headlines and photos strategically burned from existence.

Draco shrugged, turning a page.

Leaning over, Hermione grabbed the topmost newspaper, a gaping hole, charred soot ringing its borders, taking residence in the middle of the page before sighing and letting it drop to the floor. Then, climbing onto the bed beside him, she grabbed his book, and placed it neatly upon the desk beside his bed, marking his page.

"So," she said, "aren't you going to give me a proper 'hello?'"

Raising an eyebrow, Draco gave her a playfully critical look. "I was unaware that you needed a proper 'hello,'" he said.

"I've just spent an entire month in another country," she said. "I certainly do need a proper 'hello.'"

When Draco said nothing, an impish smirk on his face, Hermione then took control of the situation herself, neither saying anything for several long minutes as each became reacquainted with the other. Only once they resurfaced for air, cheeks flushed and hair and clothing thoroughly mussed, did Draco finally get around to asking Hermione about her holiday.

"Australia was absolutely beautiful," Hermione began, unearthing a thick stack of photographs from her shoulder bag.

Colorful and glossy, each seemed to be more magnificent than the last, the most spectacular aspect being that they were all frozen, stilled in time.

"Yeah, I wanted to go muggle in my photo-taking this summer," Hermione explained off-handedly when Draco commented upon their lack of movement.

As Hermione spoke, her words falling out of her mouth rapidly, Draco took time to flip through the photos, pictures of long stretches of beaches paired with crystalline blue waters, kangaroos bounding together against a backdrop of a setting sun, a scallop-shaped white building set upon water…

"…the Sydney Opera House," she recalled when asked.

…Hermione and her parents standing on a beach clad in bathing suits and bizarre masks fastened to their faces…

"…snorkeling," she explained. "I always have wanted to go. Have you ever heard of the Great Barrier Reef?"

More photos followed, all taken underwater and all focusing on the exotic marine life found beneath the water. Schools of fish painted in brilliant rainbows of color, turtles with appendages as large as fins, anemones shaped like giants fans and coiled like brains, and starfish clinging to coral danced across the photos.

After spending two weeks in Australia, Hermione and her parents boarded an airplane headed for Atlanta, Georgia where they used less muggle and more magical means of transportation to tourist hop from location to location.

"You should have seen their faces when I produced the hamburger wrapper the American Ministry of Magic provided us to use as a portkey. They've traveled by Floo before, but…"

Draco laughed loudly, fully able to envision Hermione's mother attempting to throw out the hamburger wrapper instead of using it as a portkey.

Hermione giggled. "She just didn't get it. I had to explain it to her three times before she got it," she said. "And even then afterwards she kept on insisting that it should be thrown away after we were done using it."

For the next hour, the two chatted back and forth as Hermione regaled her explorations in the States, Draco asking questions here and there and grinning in adoration as she went on and on about visiting the U.S. Capital and Library of Congress. Leave it up to her to get excited about another country's government, he had thought to himself as she pulled out another stack of pictures, many of them featuring monuments and buildings made of great, white stone.

"Did you know that the magical side of the American government is held in the exact same building as the muggle government?" Hermione had asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," she nodded furiously, pulling out more pictures. "It's held in what the muggles think is an old and unused wing in the U.S. Capital building."

"And the muggles…" he trailed off, peering quizzically at her.

She grinned. "Are clueless," she said.

By the time Hermione finished sharing her trip with Draco, the sun had begun to set and the scents of Mrs. Weasley cooking dinner were drifting up the stairs. Putting the pictures away, Hermione situated herself on his bed again, facing him with her face set for serious business and conversation. However, even before anything was said, a dull thud sounded from the window, whatever had hit the glass unseen behind the drawn curtains. Then, a succession of muffled noises followed, one after the other. Frowning at Draco, Hermione slid off his bed and parted the curtains, a hailstorm of owls slamming themselves into the side of Grimmauld Place.

"He just won't give up," Draco said, coming to stand beside Hermione, watching as bird after bird annihilated itself against the window.

"But they can't get in," Hermione said, glancing up at him.

He shook his head. "Dumbledore reinforced the wards on the house after the first letter arrived," he said, and then added as if to reassure himself, "They can't get in."

* * *

As was the way of the world, things often never unfolded in your favor. What began as an innocent security breach in bringing Harry to Grimmauld Place, would change Draco's life quite possibly forever. However, one not of seer blood could not foresee into the future, thus blame was merely thrust upon the unlucky and unjust nature of life. The Fates, though, were almost certain that if Luna had been present, a prophecy would have been told, the future foreseen. Though, they admitted human interpretation of prophecies often hindered their true meaning. Therefore, anything could have happened no matter who had been present at the time.

It began as Dumbledore approached Grimmauld Place with Harry in tow, the street dark with pools of streetlamp light spilling out at even intervals. The world was sleeping.

"Now, Harry, I believe you remember how to gain access to your new place of residence," Dumbledore said.

Harry glanced up at the aged Headmaster, before focusing his eyes on the bit of cobblestone between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen. Then, before his eyes, Number Twelve appeared, squeezing itself between Number Eleven and Thirteen, growing and expanding at an alarming rate until an entire row house existed where none had previously.

"Splendid," Dumbledore said, advancing up the front walk. "Now, I suggest we hurry. I expect Molly is awaiting our arrival, however late it may be."

Ascending the stone steps, Dumbledore waved his wand, chanting several lengthily spells beneath his breath before, apparently satisfied, he pocketed his wand and pushed through the front door. The moment the front door was opened, several things happened at once. Mrs. Black's portrait, hidden beneath the heavy, drawn curtains began to scream and rant about the blood traitors living in her house. Mrs. Weasley came hurrying down the hallway, prattling on about the late hour and her relief that they arrived safely. The half of the DA Core already living in the house perked up from their perched spot on the second floor landing, running down the stairs to meet Harry at the door. And lastly was the owl that swooped in after Harry and Dumbledore, depositing a letter in the middle of the front entrance before diving out of the house. In all the hubbub of Harry's arrival, the front entrance crowded with people, the owl's arrival and speedy departure went unnoticed, a single letter dropping to the floor and being kicked beneath a table by an errant foot. And it continued to go unnoticed as the DA Core stampeded down the stairs, grabbed Harry, and ushered him upstairs, the portraits lining the second floor hallway grumbling in their half-woken states, a door slamming soon after.

Once in the quiet of the room Draco and Ron, and now Harry, shared, they crowded around Harry, their voices carrying out in a jumble of questions.

"Oh, Harry, how are you?"

"Did the muggles treat you alright?"

"How was your summer?"

"Did you get our letters?"

"Where did Dumbledore take you?"

"How are you taking everything?"

Their questions dying down, Harry smiled sadly and began to share everything he had learned, speaking softly though tinges of melancholy resonated in his eyes. Though their questions were answered, they noticed the care he took in skirting around any topic related to Sirius and what happened at the Department of Mysteries. Shaded smudges under his eyes shared the emotions that dwelled beneath, Sirius' death weighing heavily upon his shoulders. He shared the prophecy Dumbledore had told him at the end of the last school year, the eyes and mouths circling him widening.

"_And either must die at the hand of the other_," Hermione reiterated.

"I'm going to have to kill him," Harry said.

"But haven't we known that all along?" Ron asked. "You being "The Chosen One," and everything?"

"Ron," Ginny said exasperatedly, sparing her brother a scathing glance.

"No," Harry said. "He's right. I kind of have always known." He looked at his friends. "He picked me."

"What about this _power the Dark Lord knows not_?" Draco asked, leaning against the side of the bed.

Everybody looked to Harry, who shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Gradually, the conversation shifted to what Harry and Dumbledore had done that evening.

"Horace Slughorn? Wasn't he the Potions teacher decades ago?" Ron asked upon their learning of the new Potions teacher.

"Wait, then who's going to teach Defense?" was of course the next logical question, which was met with wary shrugs before the thread of conversations shifted again.

"Dumbledore's going to give you lessons?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows skyrocketing upwards.

"What kind of lessons?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure yet."

"You'll share with us what you learn, right?" Ginny asked.

"Of course," Harry said. "Dumbledore even said I should."

Eyes brightened, excited murmurs passing quickly through the group.

Their chatter continued onwards, touching back and forth on the prophecy, Horace Slughorn, their summers, and Dumbledore's lessons until the great grandfather clock downstairs brought in the second hour of the morning, the DA Core holding their breath, hoping it wouldn't wake up Mrs. Black's portrait, as it often did multiple times during the night. When the fragile framework of the early morning silence remained intact, the DA Core let out a breath they collectively were holding and decided to call it a night, hauling themselves to their feet. However, before heading for the door, Ron and Hermione stopped Harry, Ginny and Draco pausing.

"Harry, are you truly alright?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, Mate, you're looking a bit peaky," Ron added, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Pressing his lips together in some semblance of a reassuring smile, Harry nodded. "I'm alright," he said.

Draco knew a lie when he saw one. "You lie, Potter," he stated.

Wearily, Harry drew his eyes up to meet Draco's. "Just leave it, Malfoy," he said, almost pleadingly.

When Draco went to reply, Hermione quickly held out her hand, cutting off the blond mid-speak. "We just want to make sure you're alright, Harry," she said.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out heavily. He stared at his hands, thin and pale. "I just miss him," he said. "And I hate…hate that I could have prevented…" Another sigh.

"But, Harry, Sirius chose to come to the Department of Mysteries," Ginny cut in, edging closer to the boy. "He _chose_ to come."

"There's nothing you could have done, mate," Ron said.

"And what's done is done, Potter," Draco said. "You have to move on from this point."

Frowning, Harry glared at Draco, though his words sunk in. Sorrow still clung to his bones, and he wanted to snap back with a snide remark. However, if he knew anything at all, it was that Draco should know best in terms of the hardships that life gave you and how to move on. Staring at the young man who was once his enemy, and now a friend, he sighed and walked out the door. Draco may have been a friend, but Harry would be hell bent on admitting that he was right. Rivalries did, in fact, die hard.

* * *

**A Special Note** – First, remember how back in November I didn't update for about a month or so because of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)? Well, this April I'm participating in Screnzy (Script Frenzy) which is an offshoot of NaNoWrimo. So, there's good news and bad news. The bad news: Starting in April there will be no updates for a while, and depending on whether I can get another chapter out before that, it might be a while before I update again. The good news: For Screnzy I'm writing the next several chapters of Fire Dragon in script format to get kind of a bare-bones version of the next several chapters. Then afterwards I can go back, fill in the missing places, and format it into my typical noveling format. I'm hoping this will kick my writer's block in the butt.


	45. Torvum Aestas: Pars Partis Duo

**Author's Note** – I know this is very, very late in getting to you. I had terrible writer's block due to life just being cruel. Then, just when I started to actually want to write again, my computer got a buttload of viruses and I was without for almost three weeks. Anyways, as for this chapter, parts of it I'm rather fond of and other parts I don't really care to read through. I personally think the next chapter is better.

**Another Note** – The title loosely mean "A Grim Summer: Part Two" in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Forty Five**

"Torvum Aestas: Pars Partis Duo"

The letter that had arrived as Harry and Dumbledore entered Grimmauld Place remained unnoticed beneath the aged table sitting along the wall in the front entrance for exactly twelve hours. Collecting an assortment of dust bunnies that ran rampant through the house, no matter the efforts Mrs. Weasley put into vanquish them, the letter wasn't found until Draco, exhibiting a rare instance of clumsiness, stumbled over one of Harry's shoes left by the front door and spotted it sitting beneath the table.

Grabbing it and seeing his name written on the front, he sprinted up the front stairs and down the hall to his room.

Draco slammed the door, turning his back to it as he stared warily at the letter in his hand. His stomach ached, his heart shriveled, and the fine boned fingers of his hands shook.

It shouldn't…

It couldn't…

Running his thumb across his name inscribed elegantly across the parchment, he took in a shaky breath, aware of the lump lodged in his throat as he swallowed around the fear that shot through him. Just beneath the wax seal bearing the Malfoy crest lay his father's words; he could almost sense the raw anger and insane rage that would definitely come henceforth upon opening the letter. Closing his eyes, he took another breath, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, the letter fluttering to the ground.

He didn't want to know.

Turning on his heel, he returned to his bed, the covers still mussed from a night of fitful sleep. Falling face first into the pillow, his body angled across the bed, he closed his eyes, pressing his hands to his ears as if the muffling of sound could somehow save him.

And that was how Hermione found him two hours later.

* * *

"You having a lie in this morning?" Hermione's smiling face peeked around the edge of Draco's door, her eyes adjusting to the gloom that was his room. Sighing, catching sight of his body lying prone across the bed, still clothed in his pajamas, she fully entered the room, closing the door behind her. "What is it?" she said, walking across the wooden floor. However, she paused, her foot passing over a letter lying absentmindedly in the middle of the room. Frowning, she knelt down and picked it up. "What's this?"

Stiffly, Draco turned his head. "What's what?"

"This?" She held the letter up.

"A letter."

"Well, obviously," she said, plopping down beside where his legs lay clad in a pair of blue and white stripped bottoms. "Who's it from?" she asked, and then something occurred to her. "And…how…nobody's supposed to be able to send you post."

Wearily, he stared at her.

Slowly, her mouth opened, hanging in shock. "Oh God." Hastily, she dropped the letter as if it were singeing her fingers. It tumbled innocently to the floor. "Have you read it?" she asked, turning to look at Draco.

Sighing, Draco pulled himself into a sitting position. "No, nor do I want to."

Hermione eyed him before carefully reaching over the side of the bed, grabbing the letter. "Why not?"

"What do you mean 'why not?'" he barked.

Hermione flinched, an action to which had Draco immediately regretting. "Well…"

He sighed. "I don't care what he has to say."

Holding the letter between two fingers as if it held a deadly disease, she glanced between it and Draco, as if unable to make up her mind. Then she carefully set it on the desk beside his bed. "I'm getting Harry," she proclaimed, striding towards the door.

Making as if to go after her, Draco never made it even off the bed before Hermione had disappeared, the door closing ringing in her wake. Sighing, he flopped back down in the bed, awaiting the maelstrom.

* * *

Ten minutes later, five teenagers barged into the kitchen, the adult members of the Order of the Phoenix looking up, startled, as they entered. Across the back wall, a magical map hung over the enchanted window over the sink, black, blue and red dots moving about around what looked like an intricate rendition of Glasgow. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin, both who stood beside the map, quickly snatched it down, hiding it behind themselves as they straightened up, trying to appear nonchalant.

"We need to speak with Dumbledore," Harry stated.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stood behind him, backing him up. Draco, pale faced and visibly shaking, came to stand beside Harry.

"_I_ need to speak with Dumbledore," Draco restated, edging slightly in front of Harry.

Molly stood up from the table, her face turning a faint red color. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. She very well remembered reminding the children earlier this morning about the impromptu meeting being held down in the kitchen, and her exact request that if they knew what was good for them that they would stay very clear of the area. Apparently, her warnings were not upheld.

Calmly, Hermione stepped forward, Ginny supporting her. "We have some urgent business, and we need to speak to the Headmaster," she said. "Is he here?" Quickly, she scanned the faces of those present that were packed into the kitchen, not spotting the wizened old wizard.

Just as Molly readied herself to start in on one of her tirades, Remus stepped forward, pausing Mrs. Weasley with a single hand. "Just a moment, Molly," he said. "Let's hear what they have to say."

"We need to speak to Dumbledore in _private_." Harry quickly came to the conclusion that the headmaster was not present. "Where is he?"

"He was called away early this morning…urgent business," Remus said. "I'm standing in for him. What ever you needed to tell him you may share with me."

The five members of the DA Core quickly conferred with each other, Draco having the last and final say in what they were to do. Nodding, he looked to Remus.

"Only if it's in private," Draco said.

Respectfully, Remus inclined his head, opening the door to the food cupboard, ushering them into the space, warding the door once it was closed.

"Alright," he said. "Talk."

And talk they did, Draco handing over the letter, the letter from his father. Remus scanned it quickly, a hand running through his hair as he carefully read it again and then for a third time. Glancing up at the group, his eyes meeting one pair in particular before removing the warding on the door and exiting the cupboard.

"We have a situation," was the first thing he said, the general murmur that had spread through the kitchen in their absence disintegrating until each and every attention was pin-pointed on the werewolf tagged with Albus' responsibilities. The second thing he said, directed to the DA Core, raised hackles, all five ready for a mission.

"And the five of you…" He directed his eyes to the five teenagers standing in the kitchen. "…are to have no part in this."

"But she's _my_ mother!" Draco shouted, taking several footsteps towards Remus.

Kingsley shot out a hand, stopping the young Ignius in his tracks. "Watch yourself, Malfoy," he said, scrutinizing the blond haired boy.

"Constant vigilance, boy!" Moody shouted from a corner seat. "Have you not forgotten the situation you're currently living in?"

Draco remained stony-faced.

"You are a sixteen year old boy…an underaged wizard," the scared war veteran lectured. "And not to even mention the price on your pretty little head. You go waltzing into Malfoy Manor and before you could even begin to say 'liverwurst' those Deatheaters will have you drawn, quartered, and hanging from the ceiling."

Chest heaving, Draco trembled, his fingers twitching. "_She's __**my**__ mother,_" he reiterated. "I will _not_ stay here when my father…when my father could be…" He gestured to the letter, to the threat written in its message, still in Remus' hand as his voice caught in the back of his throat. He pressed his lips together, painfully aware of just how close he was to bursting into tears.

Behind him, Hermione grabbed his hand, a gesture of comfort or restraint, neither would know.

"Remus, how much time do you think we have?" Moody asked, craning his neck around.

"According to the letter, twenty four hours," he said.

"But twelve hours have already passed," Kingsley said.

"True," the werewolf said. "I would have to guess between ten and twelve then."

"She's…she's my…" Draco went on, anger washed out by fear.

"And we'll do everything we can to reach her," Remus said. "Now, we have work to do." He turned his back, communicating that the DA Core was dismissed.

Molly, sorrow upon her face, herded the teenagers back towards the staircase.

"But Remus…" Harry tried, poking his head around Molly's arm.

"Not now, Harry," he responded distractedly.

Defeated, worried, and horrified, the DA Core trudged back up the stairs, making it to the second floor before bursting into shouts and curses.

"How could they do this?!"

"When are we going to be a part of this?"

"We're already in this war."

"It's his mother."

"His bloody mother for fuck's sake."

"Ron…"

"No!"

"I can't just sit here."

"We have to do something."

"What if they're not in time?"

"What could we do?"

"What we always do."

Everybody stopped and looked to Ginny who stood in the center of the room, her red hair flying loosely around her face, determination in her eyes. Glances were exchanged before plans were made. They _were_ the DA Core, after all.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley, having raised Fred and George, had a sixth sense for mischief, especially when it came to children. Take for instance, the summer before the twin's first year at Hogwarts, late in the season when they were particularly restless. To this day, Mrs. Weasley still couldn't quite pin-point exactly what tipped her off to their shenanigans. Perhaps it was the out-of-place silence through the Burrow, the way the twins readily agreed to de-gnome the back garden, or the curiously missing boysenberry dragon tarts Ginny and her had made that morning that had previously been cooling on the kitchen table. Which ever had tipped her off, Mrs. Weasley was quickly found exiting the back door, effortlessly sidestepping the heap of Wellington boots stacked on the side of the house, and storming into the back garden where Fred and George had tied poor little Ronnie to a tree, dragon tarts stuck to his arms and legs.

"But, mum, you said to de-gnome the garden," Fred had said.

"So that's what we're doing," George added.

"And Ronnikins just wanted to help."

"Honest."

The matching grins did nothing to persuade her of their innocence. Their ability to do so rushed out the floo when they were two and a half and managed to stick newborn Ron to his bassinet. It had taken her ten minutes and an entire bottle of St. Alexander's Desticking Elixer for the Positively Destickable before she unstuck Ron, and by that time they had run giggling out of the house and into the adjacent orchards.

Sighing, Mrs. Weasley sternly propped her hands on her hips and headed up the basement stairs, her face schooled into one for scolding. The same sixth sense she had used against her mischievous children when they were younger, and sadly even to this day, was on high alert, wailing through her head. They were obviously up to something, and if she knew her children and her children's friends, then Mrs. Weasley was nearly willing to bet their life savings on what they were planning.

* * *

In the front hallway, a giant grandfather clock stood regally in the corner as it always had ever since Spectarus Black II installed it into the house's magical signature back in 1902. Carved from a single piece of mahogany by one of the most prestigious clans of goblins in the clockwork industry, the inner mechanics of the clock were based upon Franz Watchman's magical theory of time constraint rather than gold-etched cogs and wheels. It still stood as tall and as ornately ordained as it did when it was first crafted, hourly chimes still bonging through the house on a regimented queue.

And it would be this exact clock that would bring the DA Core's carefully sequenced plan to an abrupt halt for the hourly markings of time passing still remained as deeply resounding as ever. Added to their poorly executed planning with the grandfather clock was the unfortunately reaction Mrs. Black's portrait would often have upon the hour, startled awake from her pictorial nap. And as was the way of the universe, Mrs. Black was contently within the depths and folds of slumber when the clock announced ten hours past noon.

Frozen midway down the stairs, the DA Core, dressed in all black, exchanged several glances cursing their poor luck as Mrs. Weasley came bustling up the basement stairs as members of the Order not on the rescue mission emerged from the dinning room. If their hands possessed the ability to change color upon command, the DA Core would have been sporting the brightest and flashiest red hands the world would have ever seen. However, instead, their faces betrayed the guilt playing within their eyes.

Eyes spitting fire, Mrs. Weasley propped her fists on her waist and spouted hell from her mouth, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Draco wincing and tucking tail as they reluctantly descended the stairs as the adults looked upon them with disappointment.

"Do we even need to explain the danger involved in this…this…_mission_ you were planning on going on?"

"Unwise, very unwise. Malfoy Manor is no place for any of you. Trust us, and especially you, Draco. You're not even to leave this house."

Biting his lip, Draco tried to edge back up the stairs, all the eyes and attentions upon him wreaking havoc on his nerves.

"Disappointing…"

"Unacceptable…"

"Deplorable…absolutely deplorable…"

"Up! Back up those stairs this instant. I don't want to see any of you until tomorrow morning," Mrs. Weasley then said, shooing them upwards with her arms.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, Ron following as Ginny and Hermione shared glances, their expressions revealing that they wanted to have a say.

"No, I don't want to hear it. GET UP THE STAIRS!" Her words turned to shouts, the teenagers jumping and scrambling up the staircase.

All the way up to the second floor and down the hall, Mrs. Weasley marched behind the DA Core as if they were a herd of disorderly sheep escaped from their pen. Helpless sighs and sagging shoulders followed as the door to the boy's bedroom shut behind them, the suctioning and squelching of wardings upon the door making sure that they would stay put until further notice.

"What're we going to do now?" Ron asked, falling onto his bed.

"There's no getting past this," Ginny said after checking the door to no avail.

Hermione bit her lip and sat hesitantly on the edge of Draco's bed.

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Five past ten," somebody answered.

"Few hours…"

"But we have to have faith."

All eyes turned to Hermione.

"The Order can save her…they'll save her, Draco." She turned to the boy lying listlessly beside her, her hand reaching out to run up and down the length of his arm.

He wanted to wallow in his own despair. However, glancing around at the four friends surrounding him, he found it difficult to express what dwelled in his heart.

"I hate just sitting here," Harry said.

"That makes two, mate," Ron added.

"There isn't anything else we can do," Draco finally said. "Either they'll save her or they won't. What's done is done."

"Don't say that," Hermione said quietly, squeezing his forearm.

Groaning, he rolled over and pushed himself up. "Thanks though," he said quietly, half studying the duvet cover.

"What for?" Ron asked.

Draco laughed bitterly.

"What?" Ron shouted, thinking he was being insulted.

Draco shook his head, still staring at the blankets. "You remember our first year at Hogwarts?" he asked.

Dull, reluctant murmurs passed through the group.

"Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle followed me around like a pair of trolls," he said, gazing upwards at the ceiling. "They did because their fathers told them to. At first I reveled in the power I felt that I had. Two of the biggest first years were at my beck and call. Merlin, they were like tree trunks…"

Ron snorted.

"As dumb as rocks and had the personalities of toads…but I called them my friends." Another deep sigh. "But I had no idea…no fucking idea…"

He fell silent, the DA Core wanting to say something, but the expression on Draco's face told them that he was not finished, that there was more he wanted, needed to say.

"Before Hogwarts I had thought…I…I'd believed that the way my father treated my mother and me was normal, was how things just were," he continued. "But once I got to Hogwarts, I discovered that children weren't supposed to be scared of their fathers, mothers of their husbands. The world was so different, so much more than I had been lead to believe. My fourth year things had gotten really bad at the Manor, Father dictating all these impossible expectations he had of me. He'd go on and on about the Dark Lord, about how the Malfoy name would once again ring with pride and accomplishment in the Wizarding community. I was such an integral part to his plans, a means to an end, really."

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Draco stared into his lap, drawing one of his feet closer to his body.

"Obviously, I wasn't the perfect son. How could I be? Nothing would make him happy. Everything was just falling apart before my eyes and I needed somebody to understand what I was going through, to listen, and to just…just be there for me."

Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand. She remembered all too clearly.

Draco met her eyes for a brief, flickering moment. "So, I turned to the only two people I could have considered my friends…Greg and Vince. I asked them if they thought there was more to life than just serving the Dark Lord or following in our fathers' footsteps." He laughed harshly. "And you know what they did? They gave me looks so blank I at first thought they hadn't understood the question. But then I realized what they truly were. They were just pawns, disposable playing pieces in their fathers' games with the Dark Lord. And I was just like them."

He felt Hermione squeeze his hand.

"But I wasn't. They were never my friends; they didn't know who I was. That realization hit hard. It was like I had been shoved out into the cold with nothing on. _I had no friends_. Nobody cared about me; nobody cared if I was sad or upset or hurt or…Merlin, I'm sure nobody would have cared if I died back then."

"I care," Hermione said, linking her arm with his, pressing her lips to his shoulder.

He tilted his head to look at her. "I know," he said, a whisper.

"We all care, Malfoy," Harry then said.

Ginny nodded. "You're my friend…our friend," she said.

Hunching over over, Draco ran a hand through his hair and met each pair of eyes circled around him individually. "I just wanted to make sure that you guys truly understood what I mean when I say 'thank you.' Nobody would have ever have gone this far for me."

In the time it took Draco to let out the breath he had unconsciously been keeping in, he suddenly found five sets of arms circling around him, his friends piling around him, holding him together when his world was falling apart.

* * *

Early the next morning found Mrs. Weasley pacing the second floor hallway right outside the boys' bedroom. In her hand, an express edition of the Daily Prophet was crumpled in her fingers. The moment the press had learned of the news, their journalists had pounced upon the headline, scurrying like tiny mice, rats more like it, to get an early edition out before the majority of the Wizarding population would wake. And her heart ached, the most terrible news a child could learn splashed across the front page of the newspaper before he even woke. Halting abruptly in front of the door, she took in a steeling breath and quietly opened the door.

* * *

The cupboard beneath the stairs at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was the one last section of the house that remained dust-coated and dirt-caked, barring, of course, the gray bedroom on the very top floor due to the family of acid-breathing dwellcasters that had made it their home. Sitting nearly bent double as far back as possible, Draco couldn't find the energy or will to care about the cobwebs getting stuck in his hair, to his clothes, and smudging his skin. The musty old stench of something long since past didn't even turn his nose. The smell barely registered at all, every sense a dulled down version of the original. Curled in on himself, he buried his head in his arms and focused on simply breathing, making sure the act of inhalation and exhalation were still occurring.

That morning when Mrs. Weasley knocked on their door, her face drawn, the newspaper, the headline, the photo…

His memory of it circled within his thoughts, that image directly beneath that morning's headline, _Narcissa Malfoy Found Dead_, pounding against his mind. _Betrayal has its consequences. I will be waiting._ Those words, scrawled across the west wall of the blue drawing room, were the center piece of the photo.

It was as if his lungs had forgotten how to work.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until unseen flashes of light erupted behind his eyelids, he struggled to breath. No, he wouldn't remember that, most certainly not.

When he had learned the news, astonishingly enough, he'd remained calm, his fire stirring tempestuously within him, but remaining within his control nonetheless. Oddly enough, Draco sorely wished for a loss of control, an unleashing of fire that would have consumed everything, leaving nothing left except ashy memories. When the rest had woken, also learning of the previous night's failure, of the Order arriving too late, of his father…his mother's body…the writing on the wall…

Exhaling sharply, Draco dug his fingers into his scalp until the suddenness of the pain washed away that recollection. He couldn't think of that.

His friends had come through as he would have expected, offering up their comfort and sympathies along with vindictive remarks towards his father. It was just all too much. So, seeking solace from the world, he discovered that the cupboard under the stairs served as an excellent hiding place after shooing out a lone mouse. The darkness was a welcome seclusion, the absence of light calming. And for a length of time impossible to measure, he sat curled in the darkest reaches of the cupboard until one of his friends apparently had gotten tired of wondering where he had gone and the cupboard door squeaked open.

A figure shadowed by the perpetual gloom that plagued the house entered, the mass of hair atop their head telling him it was Hermione. She was absolutely silent, closing the door behind her and said not even a word. It certainly wasn't like her, Draco thought. But then he heard her fumble in the darkness, a click, and the tiny cupboard was awash in a pale circle of light, fading as it drew outwards from the device she held in her hand. He vaguely remembered seeing one last summer while he stayed at her house and she insisted they go exploring in her backyard in the middle of the night. Staring at it now, he realized that it was the same one. It seemed odd, he thought, seeing something so blatantly muggle in this house. Mrs. Black would have a fit. A sardonic snort escaped his unofficial vow of silence and Hermione looked up at him. He met her gaze.

"I'm not going to tell you how to grieve," she began quietly, playing with the hem of her t-shirt. "But I do know that you shouldn't do it alone."

He'd never felt so vulnerable in his entire life. All the walls and barriers he had built up to hide himself over the years, the same ones that had cracked and crumbled this past year and a half, had vanished completely. Their absence left him feeling raw, a bank of emotions right at the surface ready to explode outward.

"I've never lost somebody close to me," Hermione continued. "So, I don't quite understand what you're going through. But I love you, more than anything in the world, and I can see that you're hurting. Draco…I hate seeing you…I can't…" She scooted towards him, the torch tipping and rolling to the side, its beam of light shining into the corner. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.

Draco felt that he couldn't breathe, his arms so tightly wound around his body, wound to keep himself from falling apart. Seeking comfort, he leaned into her. "I hate him," he said hoarsely.

"I don't blame you."

"I hate my own father."

"It's ok," she soothed. "You're allowed to hate him."

"She was…she was my…my mother." His voice hitched. "He killed my mother, his wife. What…what kind of a man _does_ that?"

"Obviously, not a very good one."

"But I hate him, hate him with every bit of me." Draco seethed, his teeth bared and the distinctly emotional essence of something burning gradually consuming the entire cupboard. "I hope he goes to Azkaban…no, that he gets kissed by a Dementor. Better yet, I think I'd be better of with him dead, his body tossed into the ocean…or burned." He stretched his fingers out. "He deserves it, Hermione. He needs to die." Turning, he looked at her. "He _needs_ to die."

She nodded, reaching out to take his hands into her own. "I know."

"I want to kill him."

"It's ok."

"I want to…to…"

"Shh," she whispered, pulling him closer. "It's ok, love."

"…kill. I want to kill m-my father." At that his face crumpled and it was as if everything that had been holding him together disappeared, sobs and cries welling up in his throat. And he cried, deep guttural sobs that were soaked in pain and grief until his throat grew raw.

His eyes hollow and swollen, he leaned on Hermione, her hand running constantly through his hair and down the back of his neck. And for an hour, they sat like that, until the door opened a tiny fraction.

Hermione looked up as Ginny poked her head in, entering into the cupboard a moment later, Harry and Ron following, packing themselves into the already crowded space.

"I've decided that you're not going to do this alone," she said. "Either of you."

"You're in this, and so are we," Harry offered.

Everybody looked to Ron.

He stalled for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "And your dad's a bloody wanker."

* * *

O.W.L. results arrived near to the end of June, all doing well to Mrs. Weasley's immense joy and relief. She honestly didn't know what she would have done if Ronald had done just as horridly awful as the twins. However, her worries never came to fruitation, and she thought it appropriate to celebrate that night at dinner with a fresh tray of treacle fudge, which was enthusiastically consumed by all. By the end of the first week of August, the DA Core was sorely bored with being cooped up in Grimmauld Place all summer. So, when the Hogwarts booklists arrived, all were relieved for that meant the next school year was around the corner and a trip to Diagon Alley was in order. Along with the booklists came two additional letters, exuberant shouts of joy erupted from both Harry and Ron once they read the letter from Professor McGonagall about Harry's tentative position as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, if he accepted, of course. The second letter was addressed to Draco from Professor Dumbledore.

"What did he write?" Hermione asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Draco slid her a glance, the dark shadows beneath his eyes that had become a permanent fixture over the past few weeks giving his face a ghostly cast. "I'm going to be flooing to Hogwarts instead of taking the train," he said, handing her the letter.

Scanning the parchment, she nodded. "That's a good idea."

"He's also offering me counseling," he said, lowering his voice. "After my mother and everything."

"Are you going to accept?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I'm more comfortable talking to you guys."

Hermione nodded, repressing the direct urge to insert her opinion on the matter. Knowing Draco, she knew it wouldn't have been taken as kind advice, no matter how she worded it. In fact, if she seriously thought upon the matter, her tendency for pushing her opinions on others was one of her least favorite personality traits. So, she kept mum about it all.

* * *

The weekend before everybody was set to return to Hogwarts, Remus, Kingsley, Tonks, and Moody took the DA Core to Diagon Alley to shop for their school supplies. Draco, unfortunately, at the request of Professor Dumbledore was forced to remain at the house strictly for security reasons, and, unfortunately, no matter of convincing would work.

"I could disguise myself," he offered after the headmaster declined his request.

"I know a brilliant hair color charm," Ginny piped in.

Dumbledore smiled kindly at the both of them. "I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, but I cannot allow Draco out of this house until September first. Now, if you don't have any further questions," he said, directing his gaze to the rest of the DA Core, sparkling blue eyes peering over the rim of his half-moon glasses, "I regret that I must leave. I am a very, very busy man." The last bit he said almost sadly, though a touch of wry humor slipped into his expression.

So, as his friends flooed out of the house for a day in Diagon Alley, Draco resolved to simply moping about the house, something he'd taken to doing when nobody was paying no particular attention to him. However, his mind proved to be far too unsettled for a day of lounging about and he found himself drifting from room to room, reading whichever books had been laying around, working on summer schoolwork that had been completed weeks ago, playing a one sided game of chess, arguing with an old and faded portrait in the green bedroom on the third floor, and a countless other mundane activities that failed to keep his attention for more than ten or fifteen minutes. Even stretching his wings and watching as a few flames danced through the air at his beck and call couldn't occupy his mind long enough.

Sighing, Draco sat up, extinguishing the half dozen flames with barely a flicker of concentration, and left the room. Heading down the basement stairs and into the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley skimmed the latest edition of the Daily Prophet over a cup of tea, he grabbed a handful of the biscuits cooling on the counter and allowed himself to flop ungracefully into the bench, his hands falling limply onto the table.

"I except they should be back within the hour, and mind you not get any crumbs on the floor," Mrs. Weasley said. "I just swept."

"I won't," he said quietly, nibbling on one of the biscuits.

Mrs. Weasley stared at him for a moment as if she wanted to say something before returning to her paper. Then, seconds later, her eyes returned to his sullen form currently picking a stray cookie crumb from his shirt and popping it into his mouth.

"What?" he remarked, glancing up.

She shook her head, the newspaper once again between them. However, barely a minute later she was once again studying him, that curious expression still upon her face.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked.

Setting the newspaper down, Mrs. Weasley sighed. Her fingers fidgeted over the handle of the tea cup before she said anything. "You're still a child," she said hesitantly as if she didn't quite know how to put what she was about to say.

Draco looked up. "Not so much anymore," he said.

"Yes, you are, as are Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione," she said.

Setting his snack down, he sat back, his eyes upon the matriarch of the Weasley family.

"When you are here, I am responsible for you, especially you, Harry, and Hermione," she said and sighed. "The Order tried their hardest, you must believe that."

He nodded. "I know."

"But that is their job. This is what they do," she said. "It's their job, not yours. These types of missions are no place for a child, no matter what sorts of adventures my children and their friends have been on in the past."

She paused, sipping at her tea before continuing.

"Now, I understand why you all did what you did. She was your mother," she said gently. "However, if you had snuck out and tried to rescue her on your own, there's no telling what could have happened. You are still children. There is no comparison between you and a Deatheater."

She paused before continuing.

"I do the best I can with all of you," she said. "I may not be perfect, and I may make mistakes, but my decisions are always based upon what I feel is the right choice."

He nodded quietly.

"I couldn't let you five out of this house that night; I absolutely couldn't. You must believe that I had your best interests at heart, Draco." She placed her hand over her chest. "I couldn't even _imagine_ what I would have done…what I would…" Taking in a deep breath, she pressed her fingers to her mouth. "…what I would have done if any of you had gone on that mission and returned injured or…or _worse_. I simply could not stand the thought." Her eyes stared into his own, her mouth opening to say more.

"I don't blame you for my mother's death, Mrs. Weasley," Draco interrupted.

She exhaled. "Of course you don't, my dear," she said.

However, what Mrs. Weasley didn't realize as she returned to the newspaper was that Draco didn't blame her because he already blamed himself.


	46. Inceptum Diutinus Annus

**Author's Note** – This chapter is happily brought to you by a wondrous invention called summer break. I'm not promising anything in the area of regular updates. However, my fingers have been itching and my brain has been turning. Read, enjoy, and review!

**Another Note** – The title loosely means, "The Beginning of a Long Year," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing in relation to Harry Potter except the concept of the Ignius. That, my lovely readers, is mine.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six**

"Inceptum Diutinus Annus"

* * *

On September first, as the Hogwarts Express chugged through the countryside, Draco once again followed Professor Dumbledore through the floo network, emerging into the familiar setting of the headmaster's office after a rapidly accelerating and decelerating succession of fireplaces and floos, his trunk bouncing out after his arrival. In the corner, Fawkes, who had been dozing with his beak tucked beneath his wing, gave Draco and the headmaster a brief glance before resuming his afternoon nap.

"I expect he'll have another burning day soon," Dumbledore said, glancing at Fawkes before quietly closing an open cabinet that contained what Draco recognized as a large stone pensieve. "He's been rather cantankerous as of late."

Draco combed his eyes over the ruffled feathers sticking up along the phoenix's wings as one of Fawkes' eyes peered at the boy from between a scattering of thinning feathers.

"Have you ever been subject to the healing powers of a phoenix's tears, my boy?" the headmaster asked, focusing his attention inquiringly upon Draco.

Shaking his head, Draco stuffed his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "No, sir."

"Positively remarkable, they are," he replied softly, gazing wistfully out the window. "Unfortunately, they don't heal everything."

Draco glanced at the professor's hand, a wad of bandages wrapped around the appendage that Draco couldn't stop looking at. "Sir…"

"Pardon me, Mr. Malfoy. My thoughts ran on without me." Professor Dumbledore smiled softly, though something else waded around the edges of his expression. "I believe we have time for a spot of tea before tonight's festivities are scheduled to begin," he then said, easing himself into the plush chair situated behind his desk.

Draco took the chair opposite the headmaster, his eyes still pinpointed upon the bandaged hand. "Sir…"

Dumbledore, catching Draco's gaze, smiled genially. "Yes, that would be an incredibly exciting story, but not one for your ears," he said and then proceeded onward before Draco could say anything else. "What is your favorite tea, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Earl Grey, Sir," Draco offered, sitting back in the chair, a quizzical frown forming upon his features.

"Ah, Earl Grey, one of my favorites," he headmaster said, a silver platter of tea and biscuits appearing among the jumbled mess of out-dated newspapers, stacks and rolls of parchments, and what appeared as a wiry mess of broken gadgets that emitted a gentle hum interspersed with random beeps and flashing lights. "Did you know I once dined with the Earl of Grey?" he mused. "Interesting fellow, he was." Gazing at Draco over the tops of his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore poured tea into one of the cups, a string of green leaves drawn around the edge. "Sugar?"

"Two, please," Draco responded, taking the cup, holding it in his hands awkwardly.

Dumbledore, oblivious to the boy's unease, or simply refusing to acknowledge it, added a copious amount of sugar to his cup, following it with what Draco thought had to be half the pitcher of cream. "Some might say I have a sweet tooth the size of a hippogriff," he said. "Though I beg to differ for they had never met my old friend, Sir Alexander Graham Bell."

"Alexander Graham Bell?"

"Yes, he invented what the muggles call a telephone," Dumbledore prattled on. "Have you ever seen one, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Sir," he said. "At Hermione's house."

"Of course, Miss Granger." Dumbledore then grew silent, thoughtful almost in how his eyes faded into a faraway color of blue. "There is something of which I've been meaning to speak with you about, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded.

"I would like to continue our earlier discussion on whether or not you would be comfortable speaking with somebody about the recent events that have happened in your life," Dumbledore began.

"Alright…"

"I have arranged weekly sessions for you with a former friend of mine. He is what the muggles call a Youth Counselor," he said. "A fantastic fellow, I think you'll find him to be."

Draco paused, rolling the idea once more around his head. "Ok," he then said.

"Excellent," the headmaster said, picking up a quill and scribbling something onto a parchment. "I'll owl you the exact arrangements in a day's time. Now, onto other matters." The headmaster grew quiet again. "Have you ever heard of Uric Padderson's Alternate Universe Theory?"

Draco creased his brow in a frown and shook his head. "No."

"It's a rather intriguing concept," he said. "It states that beside our own universe lay an infinite number of realities both similar and so different from our own that they would appear alien in comparison. I believe the muggles call it a String Theory."

He nodded slowly, wondering what this had, if anything, to do with, frankly, anything at all.

"Now, I have a theory of my own," the headmaster stated, placing his tea cup down on his desk atop a small stack of parchments. "I believe it is possible to create new universes according to your own free will with the choices you make in life. Do you know what that means, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No," he whispered, though something in him stirred, insisting that the headmaster's words did in fact make sense.

"I believe there is a possibility that your actions at the end of the last school term have created what I like to call a shift in the fabric of the universe." Dumbledore looked down at Draco, his eyes clear and serious. "You could have declined my offering for sanctuary. If you wanted, you could have returned to your father this past summer and had become a deatheater with the rest of the new initiates."

Shivers traveled down Draco's spine at the thought, his wings rustling nervously at the mere notion.

"However, you didn't, did you?"

Draco shook his head.

"Instead, you…" he trailed off.

"Chose the light," Draco finished.

"Ahh, exactly, Mr. Malfoy. And _that_ is the most important thing of all," he said, leaning forward across the desk. "You _chose_ the light side. It was _your _choice. But it won't be easy, not at all. In choosing the light, you have deflected from your father, from the deatheaters…from Lord Voldemort. The road you have chosen to follow will be filled with pain, struggle, and adversity, all of which you have already experienced. It could, quite possibly, be the most difficult thing you will have ever done in your life."

"I know that, sir," Draco said, though, he thought, it was better than the alternative.

Professor Dumbledore smiled slightly, sitting back. "Yes, of course you do," he said. "Now, tell me, Mr. Malfoy, do you suppose there is a newly created universe parallel to the one we are currently having this conversation in where you _did_ let your father determine your life? One where you're a deatheater, possibly within Tom's own inner circle?"

"It's possible," he said, shifting in his seat. "But…"

"Yes?" the headmaster said gently, urging the boy onward.

"I'm in this one, if the other exists," he said slowly, as if his mind were putting together the facts the moment before he said them. "I'm not a deatheater, sir. I didn't choose to follow along with my father."

"Exactly, Mr. Malfoy." A semblance of pride flashed in the bright, blue eyes of the headmaster.

"But I still don't quite understand, sir," Draco said.

"You will, believe me, my boy, one day you will," Dumbledore said, and then glanced at the clock on the wall, several dozen hands spinning around in variable speeds and directions. "Now, if I don't believe so myself, the Welcoming Feast is set to begin within the hour and we still have one more topic to discuss. More tea, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, holding out the teapot to which Draco politely declined.

* * *

The castle, once filled with students, exhibited a distinct and certain air of being alive. Muffled noises filled the hallways, the torches burned brighter and higher, the portraits remained awake and more active, and an unmistakable notion of youth and exuberance drifted through the stone corridors. Currently, the halls of Hogwarts held the anticipation and excitement a new school year brought, coupled with the fluctuating ebb and flow of a thousand excited voices emanating from the Great Hall. A fresh year was set to commence, slates wiped clean from the previous. However, high up on the seventh floor, a lingering essence of singed air drifted through the corridors, following the stomping and brooding Draco as he aimlessly wound through the hallways, pacing back and forth before the portraits until Barnabas, pausing from instructing the trolls on the exact form a pirouette should take, explicitly told Draco to either enter through the door or move on. Apparently, the Room of Requirement was impatient that evening.

Stopping in his tracks, Draco glared at the wooden door that appeared within the stone wall. He considered passing through the door, seeking the solace and comfort that their Hide Away room brought him. However, he knew the inevitable wasted no time, and if it wasn't now that he appeared downstairs for all to gawk and gossip about, then it would be tomorrow morning, and Draco was not a morning person. And that wasn't even to mention Professor Dumbledore's request. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and turned in the direction that would lead him towards the staircases.

Once on the first floor, the rambling noise of hundreds of chatty students increased in volume, reaching peak volume as Draco entered the Entrance Hall. The first years had yet to arrive, no doubt getting soaked on their boat ride across the lake in the rain that had begun earlier that afternoon. Expecting the hall to be empty, Draco paused as he spotted Harry walking towards the Great Hall.

Draco smirked. "Hey, Potter, couldn't help drawing attention to yourself by being late, huh?" he called out, unable to resist the temptation to goad on his friend.

Turning around, Harry gave him a scathing look, one hand held up to his nose, a wad of bloodstained tissue jammed beneath his nostrils. "Funny, Malfoy, I could say the same about you," he remarked nasally.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, approaching Harry.

"Nott happened," Harry answered before launching into his story of how Theodore Nott jumped him on the train as the students were getting off, knocking him unconscious and stuffing him in a cupboard with the intention of leaving him there. "If Tonks hadn't wandered by and tripped over my foot, I'd be halfway to London by now."

"Remind me to thank her for tripping over your sorry arse next time I see her," Draco drawled.

Rolling his eyes as he peeled the tissue away from his nose, Harry gingerly touched his nose, inspecting his fingers for any lingering traces of blood. "I think it's mostly stopped."

"That is disgusting, Potter."

Sighing, Harry pulled his wand out of his holster strapped to his forearm, banishing the bloody tissue to oblivion. "Anyways, what about you?" he asked, nodding in Draco's direction.

"What about me?"

"You know why I'm late. So, why're you late?" he asked.

"Meeting with Dumbledore."

"Wasn't that hours ago?"

Draco shrugged.

Groaning, as if what he was about to ask took a lot out of him, Harry inquired as to Draco's behavior. "What is it now?" he asked tempestuously.

"Like I'm going to tell you with that attitude."

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, you're the moodiest bloke I've ever met."

"Takes one to know one."

"Nice come back. What are you, a little firstie?"

"That was weak, Potter."

"Like you could do better."

"You wanna bet?"

By this point, the two boys were nearly nose to nose. However, whatever retort was set to be said next was interrupted as the great front doors to the castle opened, a gust of wind ripping through the Entrance Hall.

"Hurry along, now. The sooner we get out of the rain the sooner I can charm you all dry again," Professor McGonagall instructed, herding the new first years into the castle and, where upon seeing the two boys, halted in the middle of what she had been saying. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, what is going on here?"

With all the Daily Prophet had been reporting on Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and the DA Core as a whole that summer, not a single soul existed in the wizarding community that didn't know what occurred at the end of the last school year, boosting them to a hesitant celebrity status. Consequentially, at Professor McGonagall's scolding request, two dozen eyes were suddenly trained upon Draco and Harry, another dozen or so, the muggleborns in this particular group of first years, peering on curiously, wondering what their soon to be classmates found so interesting in the two boys on the verge of a full on fight right in front of their noses.

Ceasing their argument, petty as it may have been, they peered at their Transfiguration teacher, not even bothering to feign sheepishness. "Nothing, Professor," Harry said, adjusting his glasses that sat perched upon his nose.

Peering over her glasses at the two sixth years, McGonagall scrutinized them, sighing after a moment. "Very well then, hurry along, we have to get the sorting underway," she said, returning her attention to the increasingly rowdy eleven year olds.

"So, really, what's going on?" Harry asked Draco quietly, reaching out to open the doors to the Great Hall.

"I'll tell you later," Draco said, gazing wearily at the doors as Harry opened them. "Ready to be the center of everyone's attention?"

"I'm never ready," Harry answered back.

All conversations in the Great Hall quieted down as the doors opened, the students and staff expecting the first years. However, when Harry and Draco appeared instead, the dead silence that rang was nearly as loud as it was quiet. Then, as if a wave passed through the massive room, the gossip and rumors began. Surely, everybody had read the Daily Prophet articles that summer, heard about what had happened at the end of the last school year, about the Department of Mysteries, the DA Core, Draco Malfoy not only deflecting from his father and going missing but being not exactly human.

"Alright, I think we've all heard the rumors, as true or as made up as they may be," Professor Dumbledore called out from the Head Table, arms swept up from his sides. "Now, gentlemen, I will request that you take your seats." Smiling genially, the headmaster tilted his head at Harry and Draco.

Groaning to himself, Draco turned in the direction of the Slytherin table, dreading coming face-to-face with his housemates, knowing his betrayal would have consequences.

"Oi, you know you're welcome at our table anytime," Harry said, giving the Slytherins a look.

Draco glanced at Gryffindor's table, his friends waving at him. He sighed. "I'm to sit with my house tonight," he said, adding in a lowered voice complete with a scowl, "at Dumbledore's request."

The cold stares Draco received from his house's table were less than welcoming, a wide berth opening up as he sat down between two squirrelly looking second years. He knew returning to Hogwarts after the previous year would have its own complications, specifically those of his own housemates. Although Lord Voldemort recruited from all houses, the largest majority belonged to Slytherin, and though of evil intentions, the brotherhood of Deatheaters and those in training ran deep and strong. Taking a deep breath, Draco pushed his worries to the back of his head, weaknesses having no place for the moment, and straightened his back and shoulders, placing the familiar emotionless mask upon his face.

"So, Malfoy," Nott called out from further down the table.

Draco ignored him, staring up at the Head Table, awaiting the moment when the first years would enter.

Down the table, Nott called out to him again, repeating his name over and over until Draco's nerve nearly snapped.

"Bloody hell, what is it, Theodore?" Draco answered, annoyed.

The Slytherin glowered. "The Dark Lord isn't pleased, you know," he said with a sneer.

Draco restrained from rolling his eyes. "Incase you hadn't gotten the message last June, I don't follow The Dark Lord," he said.

"There are ways, Malfoy, ways that he can get to you," Nott threatened. "The Dark Lord and your father."

"Oh, really? Is that a challenge?"

"I know where you were staying this summer."

"Your point?"

Glancing around at the other Slytherins around him, Nott gestured to his left forearm, raising the cuff of his school robes slightly, the edge of a blackened tattoo visible. Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and a select group of upper-year Slytherins followed suite.

"We missed you this summer," Nott said.

"I'm sure," Draco drawled as Dumbledore stood from his chair, the Great Hall doors opening as the first years filed in.

"This isn't over, Malfoy," Nott hissed.

* * *

And not over it wasn't, Draco was soon annoyed to find out later that night after Snape had finished their yearly beginning of the school year speech. The moment his black robes swept out of the Slytherin common room, Nott and his newfound group of friends narrowed in on Draco. The entirety of Slytherin directed their attentions to the center of the common room, their greedy eyes hoping for a confrontation, bonus points if it drew blood.

"Betrayal has a price, Malfoy," Nott said.

Draco crossed his arms. "I was never on The Dark Lord's side in the first place, Nott."

"I would dispute that."

"I'm sure you would," he said, growing weary of the constant confrontations. As far as Draco was concerned, Dumbledore was entirely off his rocker if he thought Draco could make amends with his own house, not to even mention living in the same quarters. The old man's brain was addled with age.

Grazing his fingers over the handle of his wand, Nott took a few steps towards Draco. "So, now there is the matter of what to do with you."

Crabbe and Goyle grinned, pounding their fists into their palms, an action Draco thought looked painfully barbarian. At Nott, he snorted, nodding at where the end of his wand stuck out from the waist of his pants. "I'd like to see you try, Nott," he said. "If your dueling techniques are anything like they were last year, then I don't think there will be a problem…for me, that is."

Gritting his teeth, Nott drew his wand. "Then let's try out your theory." He then eyed Draco. "And no using your freak powers either."

"Fine," Draco said, his wand in hand. "If you insist."

The circle of Slytherins widened, Draco taking two steps back, as was proper dueling protocol. However, Nott, being the scumbag that he had been brought up to be, shot off his first spell, a cutting curse, before Draco had finished. Predicting that the other boy would attempt to cheat, Draco sidestepped the spell, a particularly ugly portrait taking the brunt of the cutting curse instead. "_Expelliarmus_," Draco returned as quick as a shot of lightening, the hex hitting Nott, his wand shooting into Draco's outstretched hand. "Like I said, Nott, I don't think this will be a problem," he said, tossing the wand back to the boy, it landing on the carpet with a roll. "Pick it up, let's do this properly."

Nott stooped as he retrieved his wand, one eye distrustfully on Draco the whole time. Jaw clenched, he stood back up and took the required two steps back. Whipping his wand out, Nott began firing off curses and hexes, one after the other, and all bordering the line between legal and illegal. Draco, however, being the better dueler between the two, blocked each hex Nott shot at him, the squirrelly-looking boy growing more and more agitated as not one of his hexes landed upon their mark.

"Oh, come on, Nott," Draco taunted, wanting a good fight. "This can't be all you have."

Seething, his hair hanging lankly over his forehead, Nott clenched his wand in his hand. "You think you're just so much better than us, Malfoy," he spat. "When, really, all you are is nothing."

Draco made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "Yes, you are quite right," he said.

Nott leered menacingly, ready to continue his verbal attack. However, Draco carried on.

"I _am_ better than you. Anybody could have told you that."

Baring his teeth, Nott jabbed his wand in Draco's direction. "_Reducto_," he snarled.

"_Protego_," Draco countered, a shimmering shield appearing before him, deflecting the curse before dissipating.

"You know what, Malfoy?" Nott said next, his fingers twitching spasmodically beside him.

"What?"

"Your mother deserved what she got this summer," he said.

All the pleasure in goading Nott dissolved out of Draco.

"And you know how I see things?"

Grey eyes spun to steely silver.

"If you hadn't betrayed our side…the _right_ side…your mother wouldn't be six feet under."

There were few things at the moment that could crack Draco wide open, spilling out his insides in a twisting and turmoiling mass of anger and grief.

"You _killed_ your mother, Malfoy. And, if I do say so myself, I think congratulations are in order."

Unfortunately, for Nott, Draco broke completely in two. With a high pitched howl that had half of the Slytherins wincing, Draco grabbed Nott by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest stone wall, the portrait directly beside them rattling on the wall. Fingers digging into Nott shoulders, Draco felt his hold on his wings snap, the massive black appendages unfurling behind him, placing him and Nott in shadow.

"You want to say that again, Nott?" His voice barely held in the rage.

Nott's eyes widened, more in terror than anything else.

"Come on, _say it_," he demanded, bashed Nott against the wall once and then twice before Draco realized exactly what he was doing. Hastily, he let the other boy go.

"You done already, Malfoy?" Nott taunted, gripping at the collar of his robes, a nasty expression crossing his eyes.

Draco gave him barely a glance. "I was done a long time ago. I have better things to do."

"Right, go wallow with those filthy blood-traitors you call friends."

"At least I have friends."

A collective 'ohh' passed through the Slytherin onlookers.

Nott's mouth contorted in an ugly fashion. "And you know what, Malfoy?"

Draco paused, giving the other boy a withering look, as if he were wasting Draco's time. "What?"

"You're just like them." Nott spat on the ground, stepping away.

Pausing for a moment, Draco smiled. "You know what? I'm taking that as a compliment. Hope you all have a nice night."

* * *

Dumbledore must have been completely mad if he thought Draco could coexist with the Slytherins. The old man was a senile old coot; he'd long since lost his cauldron and everything in it. Chances of Draco getting along with his old house were about as likely as Voldemort donning a pair of pink, bunny slippers and belting out the theme song to _Cats_. He had known what would happen at the beginning of the school year, had known the danger and the consequences of returning to Hogwarts. But what else was he going to do? Draco Malfoy was not a quitter; he would not just throw in the broom and walk off the proverbial Quidditch pitch.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly ingrained instincts to straighten his now mussed hair twitching through his arm and right down to his fingers. That, he ignored just as he ignored his inner Father telling him exactly what he thought of Draco's betrayal and flight from the dungeons. Pushing those thoughts down, he quietly made his ways through the nearly empty corridors, curfew edging closer and closer. Rounding a corner as he climbed the last staircase to the seventh floor, he paused as a voice called out from the floor below.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!"

Turning, Draco spotted a roundly plump man huffing and puffing up one staircase as it shifted from one position to the next, changing its mind midway through, directing the man to the opposite end of the seventh floor.

"If you'll hold up for just a moment," he said, walking as fast as his short, stumpy legs would allow him.

As he approached, Draco took in his plum colored waistcoat, the shiny, gold buttons stretched across his distended belly and recognized him as the new Potions professor.

"Professor Slughorn," Draco said politely, nodding his head respectfully.

A distant memory of his childhood popped up of his mother going on and on about her favorite professor, Horace Slughorn, and his Slug Club of what he hailed to be exceptional students. Immediately a bout of sadness crept into Draco's being, the memory being one of his mother, of which he firmly suppressed as the obese man caught his breath, his reddened cheeks billowing outwards for a few moments until his chest ceased heaving and he straightened up, beaming up at Draco.

"My, my, my," he chortled. "I have been waiting to chat with you, Mr. Malfoy, for quite a long time." Taking Draco upper arm, he steered him in the opposite direction in which he had previously been walking. "The Daily Prophet has been spinning quite the tale about you, my boy. Now, do tell, is it all true?"

Draco shied away from Slughorn's shiny eyes and wide open face, a grin of pride and admiration splashed across his features in a way that made Draco want to cringe. And as he did so, an odd recollection crossed his mind. The manner in which the professor eyed Draco reminded him distinctly of the way people often looked at Harry, as if he were some animal in one of those muggle zoos, there merely for display for people to gawk at.

"Bits and pieces," Draco answered, evading the Professor's true intent to get a full story of Draco's summer.

"Remarkable, just truly remarkable, I must say," he went on, ignoring Draco's answer. "You must tell me, my boy, do your wings carry your own body weight? And how wide is their span? I spent a summer on the Galapagos Islands…you've heard of them, of course…studying the vast species of birds that exist there. Fascinating, absolutely a wonder for the eyes." Reaching out a hand, Slughorn swept behind Draco, approximately where his wings would be if they weren't currently invisible.

Hastily, Draco took three steps back.

Abashed, Slughorn bowed his head respectfully. "A sensitive subject, I see, I see," he said before swiftly changing the subject. "Now, before we proceed any further, I must extend my condolences for your mother." He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Before marrying your father, she was a remarkable woman…her sister, Andromeda, as well," he said as if reminiscing. "A true tragedy."

Draco's insides shifted uncomfortably.

"I was planning on attending her funeral," he said. "However, unfortunate circumstances drew me away."

Draco allowed himself a small smirk, remembering Harry telling them about him and Dumbledore finding Slughorn impersonating a rather fancy armchair.

"Anyways, the magic will clear, my boy, you'll see soon enough," he said.

They rounded a corner, continuing down the corridor with the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, Draco glanced at the stretch of blank stone wall where the Hide Away room existed.

"Now, onto further and more pressing matters," Slughorn continued to say as Draco wondered idly how he could escape the professor's driveling chatter. "I have decided to continue on with what I call the Slug Club. You've heard of it?"

He nodded. "I have."

"I choose only the most exceptional and most deserving of students from each year and house. Many have gone on to be remarkably successful after Hogwarts," he said. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, it is solely your choice, however, if I must say so myself, it would be greatly to your advantage to begin creating a network of associates prior to completing your education. What say you?" He turned to Draco expectantly.

Luckily, Draco didn't get a chance to answer as Hermione appeared around the next corner.

"Draco! There you are," she said. "We've all been waiting…" Seeing Professor Slughorn, she promptly trailed off, her cheeks turning a rosy shade of red that always stirred Draco's insides in a pleasant way. "Hello Professor."

Slughorn bowed to Hermione. "Miss Granger, how nice it is that we meet again," he said. "I trust you have thought over what we discussed on the train."

"I'm still thinking about it," she said absentmindedly as Harry and then Neville soon appeared.

"Ah, Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom," Slughorn said, pleased as a maroon-colored Pygmy Puff. "So, it's true then…" He trailed off, looking to the four students for confirmation. "Miss Lovegood and Mr. and Miss Weasley as well?" Slughorn craned his neck as if the remaining members of the DA Core were about the round the corner any moment.

The four of them eyed Slughorn warily, not wanting to discuss anything.

"Professor, I don't want to sound rude," Hermine then cut in politely.

"Oh, you could never be rude, my dear." He smiled pleasantly.

"Curfew is in ten minutes, and if we don't return to our dormitories, we will most certainly be in trouble," she said, an itching of worry making its way into her eyes.

"Oh, of course, of course you all have other places to be," he said. "I won't hold you up. However, you all most promise to attend our first party. The time and place is still to be determined."

Noncommittal mutterings passed through the group that Slughorn took as affirmations.

"Excellent, then! You all have a restful night," he said before turning and making his way slowly down the hallway and out of sight.

With Professor Slughorn gone, the group exhaled almost simultaneously.

"He's quite irritating," Draco remarked as they made their way back to the Hide Away room. "Did he invite all of you to join his club?"

"The Slug Club?" Neville commented.

"Yeah."

Hermione nodded. "On the train, he cornered all of us after our Prefect meeting."

"You'd have to drag me kicking and screaming to one of those things," Harry said.

"I hear you, Potter," Malfoy said, matching step with Harry.

"What do you think are the chances of avoiding him?" Neville then asked.

"Considering he's our Potions Professor," Hermione said, slipping her hand into Draco's. "Very, very slim."

A collective chuckle passed through them. Granted, he wasn't Umbridge by a long shot. However, in some instances, the exact opposite could be just as troublesome. It was going to be a very, very long year.


	47. Recursus Prodigentia Filius

**Author's Note** – Again, may I express gratitude for the season of summer? This chapter is brought to you by sunshine. I rather like this chapter, and the one after. We're speeding along my outline for the end of Fire Dragon. We're halfway through page two of eight! I'm excited.

**Another Note** – The title means, "Return of the Prodigal Son," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – As always, I own nothing related to Harry Potter except the concept of the Ignius. That is mine.

* * *

**Chapter Forty Seven**

"Recursus Prodigentia Filius"

* * *

The first week of the new school year passed quickly, though not without its own share of problems. First and foremost, the contender at the front of the battlelines was the Daily Prophet, the journalists of which pounced upon Draco's return to school, issuing the first front-cover story on his reappearance the morning of the first day of classes. _Return of the Prodigal Son: Summer Whereabouts Still Unknown_, unceremoniously dropped into Ginny's goblet of pumpkin juice, splashing everybody sitting around her. Retrieving the dripping paper from her morning juice, she charmed it dry, caught sight of the headline, and tossed it onto the table amidst the dishes of eggs and porridge in disgust.

Draco, who had become an unofficial, but very welcome, addition to the Gryffindor table, gave it barely half of a glance. "Here we go again," he said, dragging his spoon through his porridge, making streaks with the maple syrup he'd poured into it previously.

Hermione, curious, grabbed the paper, rolling her eyes at the headline before reading further down the front page. "Hey, listen to this," she said, reading from the paper. "_Draco Malfoy's Betrayal: Truth or Speculation?_"

"Obviously truth," Ron added in.

"Anybody sane would know that," Luna said, frequenting the Gryffindor breakfast table that morning. "Pass the milk, please."

Draco shook his head, ignoring the morning's news and the consequential eyes gravitating towards his slim frame as the rest of the student population read the paper. Instead, he focused on his breakfast, becoming entirely too interested in the swirling patterns of maple syrup. So wrapped up in his food, he nearly missed Professor McGonagall stopping when she reached him as she handed out class timetables, only looking up when she cleared her throat.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she greeted him stiffly, handing him a timetable. "Professor Snape has seen it fit for me to supply you with your timetable since you've taken to sitting at my house's table."

Taking the parchment, he gave her a tentative smile. "Thank you, Professor," he nodded.

She returned his hesitant gesture sternly. "Have a nice day," she replied before moving on.

Hermione immediately scooted closer to him. "What do you have first today?" she asked, immediately following with, "Are you still with Slytherin for all your classes?"

"Potions, and unfortunately yes," he said, reaching down to extract the edge of his right wing she had sat on. "You're sitting on my wing, Hermione," he supplied her with.

"Oh, sorry," she said, budging over. "You know, you don't have to hide them anymore."

He looked at her sidelong. "I don't need anymore reasons for people to stare at me. I'm not a museum exhibit, you know."

"I know that," she said.

"Hear, hear!" Harry popped in at the exact same time, grinning at Draco.

Miffed, Hermione straightened her pressed oxford shirt. "I just don't think you should hide who you are."

"I don't have anything to hide," he said.

Rolling her own eyes, Hermione grumbled under her breath about the apparent stick up his arse that morning that made him so cranky before returning to her breakfast and a leisurely read through _Hogwarts: A History_ for the thirteenth time.

That morning's owl post began a long chain of gossip mongering from the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly joining in on the effort. The journalists and editors had a heyday with all the rubbish they were able to come up with and print. Rita Skeeter, in particular, took Draco on as her own personal claim to renewed fame, accounting of the, very made-up, interviews she had with him over the summer and the confessions and insider information he so graciously supplied her with. The fact that he was not only Draco Malfoy, the new Boy Wonder in place of Harry Potter, but that he was not human took the forefront of every article she wrote.

"The world has a right to know, a _need_ to understand what is out there," she had written in one of her articles, one titled _The Ignius: From Legend to Reality_. "Fables, tales, and legends have a huge part in our lives, especially when growing up. However, when one of those stories steps right off the page and into our own lives, well, then that truly is something."

That, in its own right, was tame compared to what the woman was capable of. However, what really took the cake, was the edition that plopped onto the Gryffindor dinner table Friday night right into Ron's bowl of kidney bean stew.

"Ugh, nasty," he said, picking up the paper and dropping it onto the table with a splat.

"Ronald," Hermione scolded, charming the paper clean before picking it up. A groan immediately elicited from her throat.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, looking up.

Neville and Luna, who had been enamored with each other, a perpetual state of being when it came to the two of them, looked up from the other's eyes, Neville dreading the news while Luna appeared curious.

Draco leaned over her shoulder. "Not again," he grumbled. "Does the woman ever give up?"

"Nope," Harry said. "And take it from one who's had experience with her, deny _everything_."

"Read it Hermione," Ginny said from further down the table, seated on the other side of Harry.

Clearing her throat, Hermione folded the paper so the article sat frontward. "_Ignius in the Flesh: A Personal Sit-Down with Draco Malfoy…_"

**Ignius in the Flesh: A Personal Sit-Down with Draco Malfoy**

By: Rita Skeeter

_At a charming tea shop in downtown Wizarding London, I sit down with the one, and only, Draco Malfoy. With all the rumors and tales flying around during these recent weeks, I, Rita Skeeter, have managed to secure an exclusive interview with the Ignius himself to finally get some truths to the amazing tale Mr. Malfoy has been living._

Draco snorted. "Right, like I wasn't holed up in that filthy, infested house all summer," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

_Since the beginning of the summer, Mr. Malfoy has been the center of attention after the events at the Ministry of Magic taking place at the end of the last school term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A diversion from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his mother's untimely death, and the addition of a new group of friends, young Harry Potter among them, has kept Mr. Malfoy at the epicenter of gossip for an entire two and a half months._

_But quite possibly the most fascinating thing about Draco Malfoy is not his heritage or newfound group of friends, but the fact that he is not human. "Yes, I have known that I was an Ignius since I was a young child," Mr. Malfoy told me during our interview. "It was a constant source of tension in my house, me not being pureblooded and everything." This brings to mind his recent alliance with Albus Dumbledore and the death of his mother. Upon asking, Mr. Malfoy's mesmerizing gray eyes filled with tears. I handed him a tissue. "I apologize. This has been a very difficult time." _

"Oh, great, make me sound like a blubbering fool."

Hermione glanced at him once before resuming her reading.

_For anybody reading who is not familiar with the Ignius, our own Mr. Malfoy shares with us some of the more finer, and must I say, interesting characteristics of the Ignius. "First and foremost, my dear, I must know, along with the rest of the wizarding community. Were you born with your wings?" Bashful at this question, Mr. Malfoy blushes, the pair of pristine white wings fluttering gently behind him. _

"Aww, Mr. Malfoy blushes." Ron, who couldn't help himself, chuckled. "She makes you sound like a fairy," he teased.

"Shut it, Weasley," he bit out testily before reaching out his hand. "Hermione, the paper, give it here for a moment, please." Grabbing the offending parchments, he picked up where she left off, disgust clear in his tone.

_The sight is spectacular and several patrons enjoying a cup of tea look on. "Yes," he answers. _

"WHAT? Where the hell does she get this stuff?"

"Her arse?" Ron offered. Those students who were listening in on the debacle, chuckled.

"Nice one, mate." Harry slapped Ron on the back.

"_And have they always been of such faultless beauty?" "Of course," he states, his stately upbringing clear in his self assured answer. "Although they have changed in color. They were pitch black when I was born, growing lighter as I got older." Fascinating, absolutely fascinating, and I share my thoughts with Mr. Malfoy, who blushes for a second time._

"Enough with the blushing. I _do not_ blush," Draco cried out indignantly.

"Are you willing to bet on that, love?" Hermione responded.

Grumbling, he thrust the paper in her direction. "I can't read this any longer," he stated.

Sighing, Hermione took the paper, shook out the creases and wrinkles Draco had made and continued onward.

_Amidst our chat, our conversation shifted to romance. _

"Oh great…"

_Upon asking Mr. Malfoy if he had a special girl in mind, the young man dipped his head and informed me that he didn't have anybody at the moment. _

This time, it was Hermione's turn to protest. "_**Excuse me?!**_" Eyes wide, she held the paper at arm's length. "I swear on my last exam grade that this woman's going to get what's coming to her…" She then paused. "_Again_."

"Here, Hermione," Ginny said. "May I read?"

"Please."

And the paper was switched into Ginny's hands.

_Ladies, our resident Ignius is a single man! _

Draco groaned.

_I asked him if he were dating to which he gave an indefinable answer. "At this stage of my life, any sort of dating would be unwise. I'm going to be entering my Ero Lumen very soon and a girlfriend would interfere with searching for a mate." A mate? How very, very interesting, indeed._

His head hit the table with an audible clunk. "This is _un_believable."

_In the wild, creatures often seek out a mate using various methods. For instance, the Dillywood Dooble searches for a counterpart that can exactly match his or her trilling call. The Ignius is no different. When one enters his or her Ero Lumen, they seek out their mate by singing a musical number created by the Ignius that only the mate can hear._

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

"Really, Malfoy?" Ron goaded.

Draco snarled. "No, Weasley, not really."

"_Yes, this is quite true," Mr. Malfoy confirms. "In fact, I've already begun composing my piece. It should be ready within a month I should guess." I asked him what the awaiting ladies at Hogwarts and beyond should expect. "Unfortunately, that is something I can not share with anybody but my mate."_

_Now, the only question is, who will be the lucky girl who hears Draco Malfoy's song?_

With another thunk, Draco's head returned to its previous position on the table. Hermione crossed her own arms, a surly pout pursing her lips. She didn't like this, not one bit.

* * *

Last year's highly publicized debacle at the Ministry cast the DA Core in a new and particularly shiny light for the curious-minded students tromping through Hogwarts' hallways and corridors. The previous summer's issues of the Daily Prophet that centered upon the DA Core became the impromptu bible for the newly appointed DA Core Fanclub that followed them around like a pack of rabid puppies. Curiously enough, the president of the DA Core Fanclub, Romilda Vane, was also the leader of the Ignius Fangirl Association. Rita Skeeter's last article on Draco, her own personally claimed sit down with him, gave them even more cause to tag along behind him. The constant crescendo of giggles, whispers, and squeals quickly began to grate on Draco's nerves, not to mention the ridiculousness that spouted from these girls' mouths when in his vicinity.

"Drakey, won't you sing for me?" one pleaded, gripping onto his arm.

"No, me, please let it be me," another wailed, grabbing onto the back of his robes.

"But I loved him before you did," the first claimed.

"You did not!" The second let go of Draco, punching her fists onto her hips.

Rolling his eyes, Draco ignored the inane drivel and continued onward, ignoring the quickly growing catfight developing outside McGonagall's office and, instead, decided to find Hermione.

Hermione, herself, was having her own set of troubles thanks to Skeeter's latest article in the Daily Prophet.

"I saw you last night."

Hermione, who had been reading over a draft of her Ancient Rune's essay while studying in the library, startled suddenly at the voice. Romilda Vane flicked her long, dark hair over one shoulder, shifting her shoulder bag onto the other.

Hermione repressed the groan she wanted to let out. "Yes, and?"

"He's mine," she declared, taking a step towards Hermione.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione laughed. "Really?"

"Yes, so stay away from him," she said.

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes, quickly packing up her belongings. "Good luck with that," she said, heaving her bag over her shoulder.

"I'm warning you, Granger! Draco is mine," Romilda shouted.

Ignoring the other girl, Hermione walked away.

* * *

As Dumbledore had promised Draco at the start of the school year, he had arranged for a counselor to drop in every Saturday to speak with Draco. Although Draco knew that this was for the best, that an outside opinion would help to settle matters, walking through the corridors to his previously arranged appointment directly after lunch caused a jittering of pixies to bother his stomach. Coming upon the room, the door ajar, Draco peeked around the doorframe, spotting a middle-aged man with short, brown hair and glasses. Puttering around the room, fixing this and rearranging that, he paused and looked up.

"Ah, you must be Draco," he greeted, taking several steps towards the door, a welcoming smile on his face. "I'm Mathew Gordon."

Finding it odd that the man was dressed in muggle attire, black slacks and a brown sweater, a white oxford shirt peeking out around the collar, Draco nodded politely.

Again, the man smiled. "I'm glad you could make it," he said, gesturing to a brown, leather chair sitting adjacent to one of similar upholstery. "Please, have a seat."

Sitting down, the man did the same.

"Now, before we begin, there are a few guidelines that I need to make clear to you," he stated. "First, anything and everything said in this room stays in this room unless you wish otherwise. I had Albus ward against sound coming in and going out. Second, in accordance with patient-counselor confidentiality, anything you share with me will remain confidential. However, and this is number three, guideline number two is overruled if you express any desire to harm yourself or others. Do we have an agreement?" He glanced up, expecting an answer out of Draco.

Nodding his affirmation, Draco stared at his hands.

"Excellent," he said, reaching over to pick up a clipboard. "So, how are you today?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm alright."

"Glad it's the weekend?" he asked, encouraging the boy to speak.

"Sure," he replied.

"Saturday and Sunday were always my two favorite days when I was in school," he said amicably.

Draco nodded.

"What are your favorite subjects? Albus tells me you're excellent in Potions."

He stared at his hands, raising his shoulders before letting them droop.

Mathew nodded, making a note or two onto his parchment. Looking back up, he glanced at the table beside him, yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet lying half-read beside an empty tea cup. Returning his gaze to Draco, he decided to try a different tactic. "So, I've noticed the Daily Prophet has been printing quite a lot about you, Draco," Mathew said, his comment eliciting an immediate response from Draco.

"You're a dimwit if you believe anything they say about me," Draco scowled, sinking into the chair with an irritated sigh. Not even five minutes into the appointment and the man was already asking him about the rumors.

However, instead of rebuking to Draco's rudeness, the counselor cracked half a grin. "Note to self," he said, feigning a scribble in his notes. "Don't be a dimwit." Finishing it off with a punctuated period, he peered at Draco over his glasses. "I thank you for your advice."

Draco was unable to keep the small smile off his face. After spending all his time with his friends, he found it harder and harder to keep his emotions from showing.

"So, how are things going for you right now?" he asked, rephrasing his previous question.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "This whole week has blown the hippogriff's arse."

"Certainly not the whole week?"

"Most of it."

"Nothing good happened? Not even the tiniest bit of good?"

Draco sighed and reached into the pocket of his robes, extracting a small vial. "I won this on Monday in Potions."

Removing his glasses, Mathew outstretched his hand. "May I see it?"

"Sure." Draco handed him the stoppered vial.

"Felix Felicis," he read, eyes scanning the label on the vial and smiled. "I see you've acquired some liquid luck."

"Yeah," Draco said, taking the potion back and returning it to his pocket.

"Then that is definitely a good thing."

"I guess," he answered with another noncommittal shrug.

Resituating himself in his chair, Mathew smiled softly, changing the subject. "I understand that your life has undergone quite a lot of changes recently," he continued onward with.

"Yeah," Draco responded, one shoulder shrugging.

"Professor Dumbledore tells me that this is a good thing."

"Some parts."

"Which parts?"

Draco remained silent.

Mathew smiled gently. "How about your friends?"

"What about them?"

"Tell me about them."

"You've read the papers," Draco said, gesturing to the day-old copy of the Prophet lying on a side table beside the counselor.

Mathew shook his head. "No, I want to hear it from you. As you said, only dimwits read the Daily Prophet."

Sighing, Draco stared off to the right. A framed plaque hung on the wall beside a bookcase filled with books. Squinting, he was only able to make out the words: Cambridge University. Frowning, he let it go and turned back to Mathew. "Technically, I met Potter first."

"Technically?"

"Before my first year when I was in Madam Malkin's getting fitted for my school robes," he said. "Needless to say, we didn't hit it off very well. I didn't get along with any of my friends in the beginning."

"Mmhmm," Mathew murmured, scribbling something into his notes, before glancing up. "And why was that?"

"Because I was a bleeding prat."

Mathew made a noise, urging Draco onward.

Draco shrugged. "It was what my father wanted."

"Your father?"

Again, he shrugged, feigning disinterest in hopes that he would change the subject.

"How about Hermione?" he asked, catching onto the meaning of Draco's silence.

Ducking his head, Draco scratched the back of his neck as a smile edged its way across his face. "She was my first friend," he said, looking up. "I'll love her to the ends of the Earth, but…" He trailed off, sighing as his eyes roamed around the room, this being another topic he wasn't willing to get into.

"But?"

Draco shook his head, refusing to elaborate. "When Potter found out about our friendship, Merlin, he blew a gasket."

"How come?"

"Because he hated me; they all hated me."

"Obviously not enough to become your friends," Mathew responded.

"No, but at first they did," he said.

"Why?"

"Like I said, because I was an arsehole," he stated. "Still am half the time."

"I see." Mathew nodded. "What of the others?"

Draco took a deep breath and let it out. "Let's see," he said, raking his hand through his hair. "Ginny keeps Harry in line, that's for sure. You never want to get in the way of that girl…unless you want to come face to face with her Bat Boogey Hex."

"Bat Boogey Hex?"

Draco grimaced. "You don't want to know."

"I'll take your word for it."

"She and Ron are siblings," he said next, rolling his eyes. "Ron is a giant lughead most of the time. We still don't get along very well."

"Any reason?"

Draco shrugged. "We just don't."

Mathew nodded, jotting something down.

"And then there's Luna," he said. "Everybody calls her Loony Luna."

"Do you?"

He shook his head. "She's not loony, you know."

"No?"

"We all think she's a Seer, at least we think so," he said, thinking back to a conversation he'd had the past summer with Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Ron.

"A Seer? Really?"

"Yeah, though we'd need to find a Master Seer to confirm that," he said. "And the closest thing we've got is Trelawney, and everybody knows she's a fraud."

"That's very interesting," he said.

Draco nodded. "And then there's Neville," he said.

"Mmhmm."

"I used to think him a wimp. He used to be terrified of me…"

Frowning, Mathew wrote something down, nodding.

"Merlin, the bloke used to be scared of his own shadow," he said with a laugh. He then shrugged, glancing to the left and out the window. "He's changed though. Yesterday he even corrected me on my herbology homework." Again, he laughed. "I hate herbology. I don't see why he enjoys it so much."

"To each their own," Mathew responded. "I always enjoyed herbology when I was in school. I find plants calming. Plus, they don't talk back." He grinned widely.

Beside Mathew's chair, an old clock chimed the hour.

"Well, it appears that our time has expired," Mathew said, glancing towards Draco.

"Oh, alright."

"Same time next week?"

Giving a one-shouldered shrug, Draco nodded. "I suppose."

* * *

After his appointment with Mathew, Draco ended up outside the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded the Gryffindor common room and dormitories. She peered down at him.

"You're going to need special permission to enter, young man," she said.

Draco barely gave her a glance and stepped forward, knocking on her wooden frame. He'd visited the Gryffindor common room a dozen times since the beginning of the term and she'd given him the same statement each time. The door cracked open.

"You better get in here," Neville said, peeking his worried face into the corridor. "Ron's about to tear Cormac McLaggen's head from his body."

Frowning, Draco stepped over the threshold, closing the portrait behind him. And sure enough, Ron stood in the center of the common room, face as red as his hair, with McLaggen in a headlock. A circle of onlookers stood around them, and he spotted his friends standing in the inner perimeter, either trying to reconcile the situation or shifting from foot to foot. Hermione, who stood further away, appeared worried, her hair mussed as she nibbled on a fingernail. Accompanying the melee were raucous cheers for both sides.

"McLaggen! McLaggen! McLaggen!" His dormmates pumped their fists into the air.

"Get him, Ron!"

"Come on, McLaggen, show the Weasel what he's worth!"

Pushing through the crowd, Draco strode over to the rowing pair, jabbing McLaggen sharply in the ribs before grabbing a hold of his arm and ripping him away from Ron. Thrown off balance, McLaggen stumbled several steps before the wall of spectators caught him. Wiping spit and smears of blood from his lip, he snarled at Draco.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

"Shut it," Draco said, turning his back to the bigger boy.

Walking over to Ron, Draco boxed him around the ears.

"What was that for?"

"For being an idiot, as usual, Weasley." Apparently satisfied, he took a step back, glancing around. "Now what's going on?"

"This isn't your business," McLaggen shouted, supportive shouts from a small handful of Gryffindors.

"When it involves my own friends, then it is my business," he countered.

"You're not wanted here. So, why don't you just get out," he sneered. "Get your ferret-arse out of here."

"Mmm, still using that old one, McLaggen?" Draco taunted. "You should really come up with better insults."

"He's a filthy scumbag, that's what he is," Ron shouted out in regards to McLaggen, both Harry and Neville holding him back by an arm.

Ginny stood beside Ron, her wand drawn and a none-too-happy expression on her face.

"You should have heard what he was saying about you," Ron said.

Crossing his arms, Draco gave McLaggen a dry look. "You have a problem with me, McLaggen?"

"Yeah, I've got a problem with you."

"Then take it up with me."

"Alright, I will." Straightening his robes, McLaggen advanced on Draco.

"Come on, what's your problem?" Draco tilted his chin upward. "Say it to my face."

McLaggen snorted.

"Well? I'm waiting." He tapped his foot impatiently.

He shook his head in disgust. "You may think you have them fooled, Malfoy, but I see right through you."

"Really? I'm that transparent?" Draco feigned shock, glancing at his torso as he patted his stomach with his hands. Then, ceasing, he looked up, smirking. He really was enjoying this, more than he thought he would have. People were often just too easy.

"Everybody knows what you are."

Sighing, Draco made a point of rolling his eyes. "And what am I?" He was very quickly growing tired of people assuming identities for him. "No…no, don't say it. Let me guess…" Draco paused for dramatics. "…a deatheater?"

McLaggen snarled.

"Really? Haven't you been reading the rubbish the Daily Prophet has been publishing? Miraculously, they've actually managed to get one thing right. I _betrayed_ the Dark Lord, McLaggen. Do you have any idea what he would do to me if he were to get his hands on me?"

He remained silent.

"Do you?" Draco insisted.

Crossing his arms, he ground his teeth together.

"He wouldn't merely kill me," he supplied. "Of course, in the end I would die, but I'm sure he would find plenty of pleasure in stringing me along." Draco paused. "I'm a wanted man. Can you say the same for yourself?"

Silence.

"No, of course not. So, don't for a minute think that you know who I really am. Now, get out of here." Shooing him away with his hand, Draco dismissed McLaggen by turning around and facing his friends. "I think that takes care of it."

McLaggen, irritated, spat on the ground next to Draco's feet and turned, storming up the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. Grumbling under his breath, Draco glanced in his direction.

"Let's hope that's the end of that."

"Unfortunately," Harry spoke up. "He's signed up for Quidditch tryouts."

Draco glanced at Ron, knowing he was vying for the keeper position this year. "What position?"

"Keeper," Ron mumbled, staring angry holes into the ground.

Snorting, Draco crossed his arms. "Like that's going to happen."


	48. Pax Pacis Non Durabilis

**Author's Note** – Woo for Summer! After this chapter you better get ready for things really start to happen. And I've written about a third of the chapter where Draco looks for his bonded. It's not the next chapter, but the one after. It's all really exciting. Oh, and there's a little something at the end of this chapter for you.

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely means, "Peace Not Lasting," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. Don't steal it!

* * *

**Chapter Forty Eight**

"Pax Pacis Non Durabilis"

* * *

Late one Tuesday night found the DA Core congregated in the expansive room adjacent to their Hide Away room, the very one in which Draco had learned to fly. However, on this particular night, it was Ron who took flight.

"Come on, Weasley!" Draco shouted to the red-haired boy. "You can surely do better than that."

"I'm trying," Ron panted, darting back and forth as Draco and Harry hurled quaffle after quaffle at the trio of Quidditch hoops erected at one end of the room.

"Well, try harder." Draco lobbed a ball at the far hoop, Ron turning and reaching out as the quaffle passed through the hoop. "And be a little faster."

His red hair matted to his face, Ron growled.

"Come on, mate," Harry shouted. "You don't want McLaggen as Keeper, do you? I sure as bloody hell don't."

This seemed to recharge whatever energy Ron lacked, the boy gripping his broomhandle with a renewed sense of determination. "Alright, then let me have it."

Since Ron's confrontation with Cormac McLaggen in the common room the other night, the older boy had become more outspoken, boasting about his Quidditch skills and how anybody with two knuts worth of talent could out-keep Ron. This, of course, lit the necessary fire beneath the boys' arses, motivating them to get Ron up to speed on his Keeper skills.

"You know, if you applied the same enthusiasm you have for that stupid game into your education, you'd all be getting Os right now," Hermione admonished almost jokingly from where she sat on the spongy floor with the rest of their friends, a Charms text open in her lap.

"Aww, Hermione," Ron drew out, looking down at her from above. "We'll get to studying afterwards. Honest."

"Stupid game?" Draco had said directly after Ron.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione had crossed her arms, peering up at Draco with contempt in her eyes. "Yes, that's what I said."

"Oi, I'll have you know that I'm going to be Keeper for the Chudley Cannons someday," Ron said in defense.

To that, Draco had snorted.

Pointed jests and rude comments passed between Ron and Draco.

"You two sound like a quarreling old couple," Harry had shouted, launching a quaffle in Ron's general direction.

"We do not!" Ron replied indignantly, zipping to the side, saving the quaffle.

Draco smirked, catching the red ball thrown back to him. "You should speak, Potter. Ever listen to yourself when you fight with the Weaslette?" he goaded.

"You leave her out of it!" Harry said.

Ron, on the other hand, covered his ears. "I don't want to hear it."

It had become common knowledge among the DA Core that Harry and Ginny had it bad for each other. In fact, nearly half of Gryffindor had been witness to a snogging session or two between the two of them.

"What was that?" Ginny hollered up from the ground, standing up and drawing her wand. She pointed it up at the trio of boys.

"Not listening, not listening, not listening," Ron continued to chant, not fancying the idea of his best mate together with his little sister.

"Oh, put your wand away," Draco said.

Baring her teeth, Ginny shot a spell up into the air.

The three boys feinted to the side, the spell being harmlessly absorbed by the far wall.

"Is there anything else you'd like to share with the group?" Ginny asked cattily.

"No," Draco muttered.

"Good." Grinning, Ginny slid her wand into her shirt sleeve and sat back down beside Hermione, the latest issue of Witch Weekly open to page sixteen.

"Someone's whipped," Harry grinned, "and by the wrong girl." He elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Mate, don't tell Hermione. She'll go mad."

Snickering, Ron laughed at Draco's expense. "You've gone soft, Malfoy."

Draco brought his broom level with Ron's. "You know, while we're on this topic, why don't we talk about the girl Harry and I saw you with last night sneaking out of the broom cupboard, huh?" He glanced back at Harry. "What was her name, Potter?"

"Lavender Brown," Harry said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "And did I mention that he talks about her in his sleep? _Oh, Lav Lav, you're so lovely. Please kiss me_," he mocked, making smooching noises. Draco snickered.

With a great howl of a roar, Ron took off towards Harry and Draco, the other two boys darting away. A chase ensued, making large circular tracks up near the ceiling of the room, Harry and Draco weaving back and forth. Neville cheered on all three from the ground, pumping his fist up and down. The girls, on the other hand, merely rolled their eyes. It wasn't until all three were panting with exertion that they finally called it quits and got down to business.

A half an hour prior to curfew, Harry, Draco, and Ron glided back down to the ground, finished for the night.

"Ugh, training Weasley is hard work," Draco said, collapsing beside Hermione, his head plopping conveniently into her lap.

"Oh please, you've barely broken a sweat," she said, extracting her textbook from beneath his head.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, sitting up. "Besides, I've still got energy for other activities." He winked at her.

"You are going to be one sorely disappointed boy later tonight," she said, conveying aloofness as she casually turned a page in her Charms text.

"Boy?! Please, this is the body of a man," he stated, standing up and gesturing to the full six feet of him, wings included.

Hermione covered her smile with one hand. Ginny, however, who had been sitting a few meters away speaking with Harry, couldn't keep the laughter to herself and dissolved into a pile of giggles. Seeing her friend in near hysterics set Hermione off, joining her friend in a frenzy of snickering.

Draco, watching the both of them, aware of the others' eyes on him, decided that enough was enough, and he must take control of the situation.

Hermione had just begun another set of belly-deep snorts, tears of mirth running down her face, when she felt somebody plop down in her lap. A mouth was quickly planted to her own. This quieted her, her fingers curling immediately into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. A growl emitted from the back of Draco's throat.

"Oi, get a room!"

Draco and Hermione looked up. The entire DA Core fell over in laughter, even Luna who hadn't noticed at first the PDA session Hermione and Draco were currently taking part in.

Irritated, Draco sneered. "Fine," he said, grabbing Hermione's hand, pulling her to her feet. "We will."

Red in the face, Hermione followed him to the door, exiting into the warmth of their Hide Away room, one of the house elves having lit the fireplace at some point during the evening. Across the room on the other side of the fireplace sat a new door that hadn't previously been there the year before. Crossing the room, Draco entered through the door, a bedroom on the other side.

"It's almost curfew, you know," Hermione said, closing the door behind her.

"So?" he said, kicking his shoes off, tossing them beside his school bag that sat in the corner beside the door.

"Yeah, well…"

"You can stay here tonight if you want," he said, undoing his school tie and draping it across the back of the desk chair before working at the buttons fastening his shirtsleeves, his robe having been discarded hours earlier after dinner.

Hermione hesitated.

"Oh, come on, you've done it before," he said. "You slept here just three nights ago."

She shrugged, removing her shoes and setting them down beside Draco's. Draco, rummaging around in one of the drawers of the cupboard for a moment, tossed her a set of pajamas.

"Hey, I was looking for these," she said, shaking out the pair of pink and purple striped pants and the white t-shirt she thought that she'd lost.

"You left them here last weekend," he said, grinning at her.

Removing her stockings and the sweater she had been wearing, she glanced up at Draco. "Turn around," she said.

He gave her a look.

"Just do it!" She swatted him with her tie.

"Fine, fine," he said, facing the corner.

Watching him for a moment, certain that he wasn't going to peek, she quickly slipped out of her school uniform and into her pajamas.

"Are you changed yet?" he asked, feigning impatience.

"Yes."

Turning back around, Draco raised his eyebrows, twirling one finger around. "Well, now you turn around," he said, pajamas in hand.

Smiling she turned around, blushing at the thought of him undressing. Then, embarrassed, she shook her head.

"Alright," Draco announced, launching himself into bed. "Turn off the light, will you?" he then requested, gesturing to the lamp sitting on his desk.

"And why can't you do it?"

"I left my wand over there," he said.

Rolling her eyes, she tapped the lamp with her wand, the room growing so dark that she could barely see the outline of the furniture. Feeling her way to the bed, she unexpectedly, and rather painfully, ran into the thick, wooden bedpost, stubbing her toe.

"Oh bloody hell," she cried, hopping up and down.

"Language, Granger, language," Draco teased.

Hermione gave him a nasty look, though it was lost in the darkness.

A light grew from the center of the bed. "What'd you do?" Draco asked, a flame held in the palm of his hand.

"Stubbed my toe," she grumbled, limping over to the bed and climbing in. Beside Draco, she bent her knee, examining her big toe, pain pulsating from the appendage.

"Here, let me see," he said, holding out his hand.

Sticking out her right foot, he took it, setting it in his lap. He held the flame beside it, probing it gently with one finger.

"Ow," she said quietly.

"Baby," he teased.

She took the opportunity to pout properly.

"Anyways, I think you'll live," he said, letting her reclaim her foot, the flame extinguishing itself.

Hermione felt him settle down, the mattress shifting. "Well, if _someone_ hadn't been lazy…" She trailed off, insinuating the rest of what she was going to say with a sarcastic tone.

"Hey, I resent that," he declared, poking her in her side.

Squealing, she jumped nearly a foot off the bed. Draco merely chuckled. Huffing, Hermione scooted away from him before lying back down. "Don't do that," she said, miffed.

"Do what?" He feigned innocence.

"You know what I'm talking about," she retorted.

"Aww, come on," he said, reaching out in the dark, his hand finding her elbow, and he tugged on it gently.

Rolling her eyes, she shifted back closer to him. "You're lucky I love you," she said, turning on her side.

"Mmhmm," he said, angling his head so it rested beside hers as she nestled closer to him.

They were silent for a long while, Draco being very near the edge of sleep before Hermione's voice brought him back to full consciousness.

"What if somebody finds out we've been doing this?" she said suddenly into the quiet of the room.

"What? Doing what?" he asked sleepily.

"Sleeping in the same bed," she worried, her eyes peering up to where she knew his face was. "I don't think the administration would take kindly to that."

"What they don't know won't hurt them," he said.

"I guess…"

"Plus, who's going to know?"

* * *

"I know where you were last night," Ginny sing-songed to Hermione the next morning as the older girl took the seat next to her.

"Yes, and…"

Ginny grinned at her, a smug grin on her face.

Hermione sighed. "It's not like we do anything," she said. "All we do is sleep." Reaching forward, she grabbed a few slices of buttered toast.

"Of course," her friend said. "I wouldn't think anything else of it." The sarcasm dripped heavily from her words.

"Right, like you should even speak, Ginny," Hermione said. "How many times have I caught you sneaking out of the common room with Harry?"

"Well, I'm not spending the whole night with him."

"What about two nights ago when you came back in at two in the morning, huh?" she said. "What about that?"

"Yeah? Well…well…" Ginny was without words and resorted to a plaintive pout.

"Exactly," she said.

"Anyways, speaking of loverboy, where is he?" Ginny asked, glancing around for the blond-haired boy.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Hermione said, waving one hand. "Doing his hair…making sure his robes are lint-free…"

"Typical."

Hermione grinned. "I expect he should be down in a moment."

Ginny nodded, glancing down the table as the owl post arrived, Harry receiving a letter from Dumbledore.

"What's it say?" Neville asked, peering over his shoulder.

Harry ripped open the seal fixing the piece of parchment closed. Unfolding it, he scanned it quickly. At this moment, Draco chose to join the rest of the students, squeezing between Hermione and Ron.

"Do you mind, Malfoy?" the red-head quipped.

"Nope, not at all," Draco answered. "What's going on?"

"Harry's got a letter from Dumbledore," Ron answered. "Will you at least budge over a bit?"

"No thanks," he said with plenty of snark, though he did scoot a touch closer to Hermione before shouting over to Harry. "Potter, what's he say?"

The DA Core drew their heads close together, the eyes and ears of the rest of the students kept out of the information shared within.

"I have my first lesson with him on Saturday," Harry said.

"Cool!" Ron said.

"I think it'll be quite informative," Luna added.

* * *

That Saturday, Harry attended his first lesson with Albus Dumbledore. And, ever loyal to the DA Core, he relayed everything he had learned to his friends directly afterwards. Safely hidden within the magical walls of their Hide Away room, and surrounded by a rich bounty of food provided by the house-elves, Harry told them of Dumbledore's pensieve and the memory he had viewed. He recounted of the small, rundown house lost in the tangle of weeds, the Gaunt family living in disharmony within its walls, of Marvolo, Morfin, and Merope, and of the crime Morfin was charged with. Held in rapt attention, the DA Core listened as Harry described Merope Gaunt, her obsession with the muggle, Tom Riddle, and of the love potion she used to lure him to her own heart.

"Wait, you aren't saying…"

Harry glanced at Neville and nodded. "Yep," he replied. "Voldemort's mother was a squib and his father was a muggle."

In response to that, Draco snorted, his face twisting into a barely controlled expression of laughter. "Oh Merlin, I knew his father was muggle…"

"A squib?" Ron appeared perplexed.

"…but I never knew about his mum," Draco finished.

"He was the child of a love potion," Ginny said. She cackled at the thought. "Lord Voldemort is the child of a bloody love potion."

"You should tell him that to his face, Harry, next time you come face-to-face with him," Ron said, Ginny grinning.

"I think I just might. Tom Riddle, Love Potion Child," Harry replied smugly before collapsing in laughter.

"Do you really think that's a good idea, Harry?" Neville shifted anxiously. "I mean, he already wants to kill you. Why make him mad?" Mention of Lord Voldemort still rattled Neville's bones. Fear of the name or of the man would help none in the face of danger, something the DA Core constantly worked at to overcome.

Luna looked over at him and covered his hand. "Laughter breaks the powerful hold he has over people," she said, looking up at him, a smile growing on her face.

* * *

A time later, the DA Core made their way out to the quidditch pitch, for, coincidentally, Harry's first lesson fell on the same day as the Gryffindor quidditch try-outs. As was typical, the students of Hogwarts being die-hard quidditch fans, the stands were spotted with groups of students from other houses, curious about the end results of the try-outs. This year, in particular, was of great interest due not only to the fact that five positions were open on the Gryffindor quidditch team, but that the DA Core would most definitely make an appearance. The swarms of fans and onlookers that crowded the hallways when the DA Core was around had not lessened as the school year commenced.

Walking out onto the field, the DA Core split, Harry, Ron, and Ginny continuing out to the green oval of grass while the rest climbed up the steps into the stands. Harry was immediately dismayed to discover what looked like half of Hogwarts had shown up for the try-outs alone, not counting the other half of the student population situated in the stands. Taking a deep breath, he clutched the clip board in one hand and his self-inking quill in the other, refraining from running his hand over his face in irritation.

Katie Bell, seventh year chaser, stood next to Harry. "Blimey, did the whole school show up?" she whispered to Harry.

"It looks like it." He laughed humorlessly before turning to the crowd. "Alright, I want each and every one of you to listen up," he shouted over the chatter of three dozen students, possibly even more.

"Quiet down and listen up, the lot of you," Katie added.

Immediately the masses quieted down, eyes transfixed on the black-haired boy and the girl standing next to him. Several errant giggles rose from the crowd.

Groaning to himself, Harry searched through the crowd, catching sight of splotches of yellow and blue among the maroon and gold. "First, if you are not in Gryffindor, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be cut," he said.

Several students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw slinked away, dismay written across their faces.

Sighing, he surveyed the remaining people. "If you've never ridden a broom, raise your hand," he called out.

Hesitantly, a dozen hands rose in the air.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to go too," he said.

A gaggle of giggling girls exited the field. One lagged behind, her hair spelled up into an intricate up-do and her make-up applied to an almost professional degree. She fanned her eyelashes at Harry. "I didn't really want to play anyways," she confessed, running a manicured hand down Harry's arm.

Katie rolled her eyes, tossing a quaffle up in the air and catching it.

"Um, alright," Harry said uncomfortably, the girl walking away, her hips sashaying from side to side. Rolling his eyes at her display, he returned to the remaining people. "First, does everybody have a broom?"

Among the chorus of yes's, were a few meager no's.

"Come get one, then," Harry said, gesturing to the dozen or so brooms supplied by Hogwarts. Although not of the highest quality, the most advanced being a Comet 260, they flew straight and tended to obey its rider. Katie handed them out, one by one, to the small line of students that appeared.

"Now, before we begin," Harry said once everybody had a broom in hand. "I want three laps around the pitch."

Mounting their brooms, the two dozen Gryffindors shot up into the air. Checking his clipboard, spelled to record the remaining players and those who were already cut, Harry then directed his gaze upwards. He and Katie studied their flying skills, whispering back and forth, cutting three players before calling them back down to the ground.

"Sorry, try again next year," he called out to the three leaving the pitch.

Twenty-one players were left standing on the pitch, faces already flushed in the mid-September heat wave.

"First, we'd like to introduce ourselves," Harry began.

"We know who you are, Potter," a voice called out.

Leaning to the side, Harry caught sight of McLaggen standing arrogantly with his arms crossed.

"Oh, shut it, McLaggen," Katie yelled. "It's just formalities." Then, to the rest of the group, she said, "Anyways, my name is Katie Bell, and Harry has so graciously made me co-captain."

"And you all know me, I'm your captain, Harry," he said next, stepping forward.

"To start off with, I want you all to split into groups according to the position you're trying out for," she said.

With a lot of shuffling around, three groups were made, their divisions giving Harry and Katie a good idea of the work set out ahead of them. Before them, a group of four were trying out for position of keeper, seven for beaters, and ten looking to be chasers. Wisely, perhaps on their parts, no Gryffindors attempted to vie for the position of seeker, currently held by Harry. As they divided up, Ginny passed before Harry, heading towards the group of girls and boys trying out for the two open chaser spots. He stared at her oddly, figuring previously, since she played seeker in place of him last year, that she would still tryout to be seeker.

"What?" she said. "You think I'm going to go up against you, Harry? Both you and I know you'd beat me into the dirt."

Shaking his head as he grinned, he realized that she was right.

Two hours and forty-three minutes the quidditch try-outs had lasted, Harry and Katie scrutinizing and critiquing each and every player that came before them. As the sun began inching closer to the horizon, their bellies rumbling for dinner, Harry and Katie had almost finished piecing together a decent team. Taking Fred and George's place as beater were Richie Coote and Jimmy Peakes, both of whom worked well together. As chaser, Ginny was almost a shoe-in, her feisty nature and skill on a broom a definite advantage on the pitch, while Demelza Robins won the third spot as chaser, next to Ginny and Katie, over Dean Thomas.

Still in the air, Ron and McLaggen still fought for keeper. Katie and Harry dwelled over the decision. While Ron caught three-quarters of the quaffles before they soared through one of the hoops, McLaggen saved a mere fraction more. Harry loathed to admit that McLaggen had talent. However, Ron definitely had potential, his maneuvering in the air a definite improvement from last year. Biting his lip, he conferred with Katie, coming to a decision a moment later.

"Alright, both of you, come down," Harry called up.

Panting, Ron and McLaggen landed before Harry and Katie. McLaggen swaggered on the spot, believing he got the position. Ron, on the other hand, appeared nervous, gripping his broom. Harry glanced at Katie, a silent war passing between them before she rolled her eyes, groaning.

"Alright, McLaggen…"

"YES! In your face, Weasley," he cheered, both fists shooting up into the air.

"…sorry, but you're cut," Katie finished.

McLaggen quickly deflated, elation turning to rage. "WHAT?"

"Sorry, but we've made our decision," she said.

"This is utter crap," he shouted. "I'm loads better than _him_." He gestured wildly at Ron.

Harry crossed his arms. "That's our decision, McLaggen," he said.

The other boy scowled. "Oh, right, I see it. Potter's got half his friends on the team."

"Everybody on the team is here because of their ability."

"Right, of course," he snorted.

"McLaggen, just suck it up and leave," Katie said, growing irritated.

"No, I want to know why," he said, turning to Harry. "What's Weasley got that I don't?"

"Sportsmanship?" Katie answered.

"You're bloody arrogant," Harry added. "I don't want anything like that on my team."

"McLaggen, you wondered why Wood always cut you," Katie continued. "Now you know why."

Sulking, he left the field as the new Gryffindor team cheered, those up in the stands adding to the shouts.

"So, you really mean it?" Ron said. "I'm on the team?"

Harry nodded and Ron let out a great, whooping shout.

* * *

**Another Something** – If I say this once, I could say it a millions times. I love, love, love YouTube. I'm always looking for new videos and such. Anyways, last night I came across this little gem. It's a fantastic video by, ILikeThesePeople. The song and bits of the content of the video really poses as FD's theme song in the next few chapters to the end. www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch(question mark)v(equal sign)qg7ZxhXt6LE Hint: If the link doesn't work for you, make sure you capitalize what's capitalized.


	49. Quod Infit

**Author's Note** – Again, yay for Summer! Things are really starting to pick up speed, and things'll get exciting very soon. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter. It has some very pertinent plot points, and it moves the plot along. But, I've said this before but if I were to go back and do a massive revision on Fire Dragon as a whole, there are things I would change...one of them would be the pacing the beginning of sixth year. The issue is that not too much happens. It isn't until Christmas that the catalyst for the end of Fire Dragon happens. Oh, and I'd like to thank everybody who reads this and all you reviewers out there. You are fantastic and keep me going sometimes.

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely means, "And It Begins," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That's all me.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

"Quod Infit"

* * *

If one thing remained constant in the lives of the DA Core, it was that nothing was constant. Everything changed; nothing stayed the same. The fates had a plan, a plan that was finely intertwined with time. Unfortunately, time traveled along a linear path, sparing discrimination and prejudice. If it was bound to happen, nothing would stop it. For the DA Core, things were most certainly going to change, the very beginning tendrils of which were already unraveling into the continuum of reality. That first tendril, the first thread, manifested as a conversation.

* * *

"I'd like to talk about your father."

Draco tightened his grip on the leather arm rests of his chair, the only gesture contradicting his outward calm. "Yeah? What about him?" he directed towards Mathew.

"Tell me about him."

He shrugged in return. "What's to say?"

"I believe there's quite a lot."

Draco's eyes shifted to the wall, pupils tracing the individual stones. "He's a bastard, and I hope I never see him again."

He nodded. "That's understandable."

"How can you understand?" He swiveled his head back around. "How can you even begin to understand anything?"

"Technically, I can't," he said. "But human suffering, I can."

"I'm not human," he said simply.

"Do you have emotions?"

Draco paused, Mathew taking that as his answer.

"Well then, tell me more. Who is he?"

So, Draco told him, told him how his father raised him, the harsh realities that were thrust onto him as a small boy. He recalled knowing of his impending fate from an early age, Lucius always going on and on about the Dark Lord rising again and how Draco would ascend to greatness. He also spoke of his Father being one of the major beneficiaries to the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's, a cunning cover to his true position, deatheater to Lord Voldemort's inner circle. Lucius' position beside Voldemort was all Draco's father lived for, nothing else mattering in his life, family included.

"What do you think of that?"

"Of him being a deatheater or putting the Dark Lord before his family?"

"Both."

Draco sighed. "I've long since stopped caring about him. He's not my father anymore; he never acted like one, and if he gets killed, then so be it."

"Even if he's your father."

"Yes."

"Don't you think that's heartless?" he asked, his voice questioning, testing.

Draco glanced up, frowning. "No. He never thought of me except for his own means," he said.

"What means were those?"

"To take his place beside Voldemort, and possibly to be the next Dark Arts Master," he said.

"The next Dark Arts Master?" Mathew raised his brow.

"There were rumors," he said shortly, shrugging.

"Was this something you wanted?"

Draco sneered at the thought. "Hardly."

"What do you want?"

He shrugged, though a mental image of Hermione came to mind, and he was unable to stave off the grin.

Mathew smiled. "What's making you smile?"

"You asked me what I wanted, and the first thing that came to mind was Hermione," he said.

He nodded. "You love her, don't you?"

"More than anything."

"What would your father think?"

"He'd killer her, and then me if he ever got his hands on us," he said.

"That's a scary thought."

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "It is what it is."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's not like I can change it."

"That's very true."

"Why worry about something you can't change," he said. "I'd rather just live my life."

Mathew grinned in response, a faint shimmer of pride behind his eyes. "That's just about the best advice you could give yourself. The best revenge is living well without you," he quoted.

Draco smiled, settling into the chair and looked up at Mathew. Four weeks had passed since the beginning of the school year, since he and Mathew had begun having these sessions together. The older man was patient and understanding, something that bade well with Draco's personality. He ran his fingers through his hair. "He killed my mother," he said.

Mathew nodded once. "I've heard," he said.

"I'd kill him, you know," he said. "If I ever came face to face with him."

"I imagine that would be difficult," he said.

Draco shrugged, creating a small flame on one finger, rolling his hand, the flame moving in conjunction with his movement. "It wouldn't be that hard," he said.

"I can understand a little bit of what you're thinking, Draco," he said, sitting forward in his chair. "But do you think that would be the best choice?"

Not answering, he again shrugged one shoulder as if he didn't really care. "My mother, she's in a better place, though," he said instead.

"Why's that?"

"She doesn't have to deal with him."

Mathew nodded understandingly. "She was just as much of a victim as you are."

"I'm not a victim."

"No?"

"No."

"Why do you think so?"

"I'm not going to let him control me anymore; he's not going to ruin my life. I won't let him."

* * *

The thread began to unwind, spiraling and twisting into the continuum of space and time.

* * *

At the very end of September, something of interest happened. It was a late, Saturday night, the DA Core engaged in their usual activities in the Hide Away room, when Harry, who had been lazily flipping through an issue of Quidditch World, let out a sharp cry. His hand going to his scar, he suddenly lost consciousness, slipping from the couch and landing on the floor. Immediately, everybody surrounded him.

"_Ennervate_," Hermione said quietly.

Harry's eyes opened, a cascade of voices mixing together in a confusing array of noise.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, sitting up, brushing off Ginny and Hermione's hands. "Really, I'm fine."

Ron sat back on his heels. "It's happening again, it's it, Mate?" he asked, Hermione immediately peering down at Harry.

"What is?" Draco added impatiently.

"It's unraveling," Luna said evasively, eyes going glossy as she stared off into space. The DA Core glanced once at her before returning to Harry.

"Harry, this isn't like last year, is it?" Neville then said, his eyes betraying the nervousness that he tried to hard to keep from his face.

He sighed. "It's…I didn't see anything," he said.

"But…" Hermione insisted.

"I just felt things."

"Like what?"

"Emotions," he said.

"Could you elaborate just a bit more, Potter?" Draco quipped.

Harry glared at Draco. "Just give me a minute," he said, getting to his feet.

Everybody followed him back onto the couches, the crackling fire a backdrop to the conversation.

"He was thinking about something, contemplating, really," he said. "And he was very confident about it, almost peaceful…happy too, which was strange."

Ron grimaced. "You-Know-Who happy, ugh, that's creepy," he said, shuddering.

"What do you think it means?" Ginny asked.

"I think we should tell Dumbledore," Hermione added in.

"But what good is that going to do?" Ron responded.

"A whole lot of good," she said indignantly.

"Ron's right, Hermione," Harry said. "What am I going to tell him? That Voldemort is happy?"

She folded her arms crossly, not wanting to admit that he was right.

However, Harry's vision wasn't the only thing of interest that piqued the DA Core's attention. The beginning of October brought gusting winds, amber-colored leaves, and a group of students having gone missing one night at dinner.

"I'm not imagining this, am I?" Hermione asked, her eyes combing through each of the house tables.

"No, no, you're not," Ginny answered.

"They're probably just skiving off dinner." Ron looked up from a turkey leg.

"This many students?"

He shrugged.

Although the DA Core did not yet know what to make of the absent students, of whom were present the next day at breakfast, it didn't escape their mind. And as the days turned into weeks, October passing on by one week and then another, other oddities popped up among the student population.

"Oh, it makes me so mad," Hermione grumbled one night coming through the Gryffindor portrait, her bag slamming down on the table where Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville sat. Draco, who had been reading a novel by the fire stood up and walked over.

"What happened?" he asked.

"This is the fourth time this week that Maribelle Astley has failed to show up for her tutoring this week," she said. "It's highly disrespectful to say you'll meet someone somewhere and then just not show. I have half a mind to march over to Hufflepuff and give her a piece of my mind."

"Maybe something came up?" Ron offered.

"Four days in a row?"

"You have to admit, Weasley, that's a bit odd," Draco said.

What had begun as a few students from each house missing an occasional dinner grew to random student absences during classes and extracurricular activities.

"He's our best beater and I'm bloody minded to cut him," Draco had heard the Hufflepuff quidditch captain say the other day on his way to the library. "A whole week of practice! Who misses a whole week?!"

The teachers had taken notice, though they hid it from the students. Dumbledore often disappeared during meals, the headmaster appearing absentminded and caught up in other affairs when seen around the school. However, even more disturbing than the disappearances were the subtle shifts in student social structure. Several students from each house who had previously balked at inter-house cooperation, all years included, were beginning to be seen with each other, walking to class, studying in the library together, eating meals at other's tables. While house unity had always been a goal at Hogwarts, the fact that these were the same students who had taken random leaves of absence was a huge red warning flag.

"_What_ is going on?"

"I don't like it." Draco watched as a seventh year Slytherin accompanied a meek second year Hufflepuff on their way to lunch.

"I've got a bad feeling. Something's going on," Harry mumbled, rubbing his scar, something he'd taken to doing frequently.

Draco glanced at him. "Something as in something or _something_ as in _**something**_?" he asked tensely.

Harry shook his head. "He's just so bloody damned pleased with himself," he said.

"Oi, what's the hold up?" Ron showed up, flanked by Neville and Luna, Ginny a few meters behind.

They quickly told the others what they had just seen, the sight not anything uncommon in the past few days.

"I talked to McGonagall," Neville spoke up.

Heads turned.

"What'd she say?" Hermione hissed.

"What we all were to suspect," Luna answered for him. "The staff is covering up what is really going on."

"She said that a little house unity wouldn't hurt anyone," he said. "But I could just tell that something was off."

"I tried to go to Dumbledore last night," Harry said. "But you all know what happened there."

"I wonder where he's been going off to," Ginny wondered. "Last night was the third night he's missed dinner."

"He's not the only one," Ron whispered.

Hermione glanced behind herself as two fifth year Slytherins entered up from the dungeons, their leering grins unsettling her. "Let's go upstairs, I don't like this."

Ginny glanced behind her. "I agree."

A general consensus soon had the seven of them quickly trekking up to the seventh floor. However, their momentary act of avoidance didn't cover up the fact that something was going on, something that they could not get away from. However, amidst the chaos, other issues would soon arise.

* * *

Fate's threads of reality continued to unravel, weaving a destiny long ago set into stone.

* * *

The third Saturday in October, Harry was delivered an owl during breakfast from Dumbledore, the content of which informed him of his second lesson with the headmaster directly after breakfast. Once he had crammed several pieces of toast down his throat, Ginny scoffing at his heinous table manners…

"Chew, Harry. The headmaster will certainly give you time to chew," she admonished cattily.

…he hopped up from the table and quickly exited the Great Hall. Perhaps he would finally have a chance to discuss the student disappearances with the headmaster, Harry thought as he ascended the staircases to the seventh floor. Arriving at the stone statue of the gargoyle, Harry called out the password and was admitted entrance to the spiraling staircase. The stone wall closing behind him as the stairs began grinding upwards, Harry became aware of a heated and rather vocal argument taking place within the headmaster's own office.

"It is happening, Albus. He will not wait until the end of the school year."

"You must persuade him to hold off. The boy is not ready, Severus," Dumbledore placated calmly to a seething Potions master.

Harry pressed himself against the wooden door.

"It's not my choice. He does as he pleases," Snape cried, almost pleading.

"I have faith in you, my dear boy," the headmaster began to say, but Snape interrupted.

"Then you have faith in nothing, Albus."

Footsteps quickly made their way to the door, the swishing of a cloak startling Harry into flattening himself against the stone wall. The door crashed open, Snape making an enraged exit. His black eyes immediately swiveled around to land on Harry.

"Snooping around places where you're not welcome, Potter?" he snarled.

Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore beat him to the punch.

"I asked him up here, Severus," the headmaster's weary voice said from within the office. "Leave the boy alone."

Giving one last dark sneer, Snape passed by Harry and out of sight. Harry turned his head and glanced at the partially open door.

"You may come in now, Harry."

* * *

Directly after his lesson, Harry shared what he had learned with the DA Core. However, it wasn't learning of Tom Riddle's childhood in an orphanage, his disregard for human decency, nor his abuse of magic that had them sitting nearly speechless around the low coffee table in the Hide Away room. No, it was Harry's account of what he had overheard prior to his meeting with Dumbledore, the argument between the headmaster and Professor Snape. Their words boded as an ill-timed omen, a chilled silence.

"I have a terrible feeling about this," Neville said, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"We all do, Longbottom," Draco replied.

"Are you sure you heard them correctly, Harry?" Hermione asked, worrying the edge of her sweater.

"For the third time, Hermione, it was like I was right there," he said. "I know what I heard. Voldemort is obviously planning something."

"But what?" Ginny asked.

"Probably an attack," Ron said.

"Would he really attack the school, do you think?" Neville asked.

"I think he would," Luna said.

"But we don't know for sure," Hermione said, referring to a scrap of parchment laid out on the table. "All we know is that something is going to happen before the end of the school year…possibly sooner."

"Definitely sooner," Harry said. "Snape said he wouldn't wait for the end of the school year."

"Are you sure he's speaking of Voldemort?" Ginny asked.

"Who else would he be talking about?" Ron said mockingly.

"Calm it, Ron, I just want to be sure."

"I think we can be safe in assuming that Snape was referring to Voldemort," Luna spoke up softly. "Patience isn't within him."

Harry took a deep breath. "Alright, then we can also assume that there will be an attack."

A chill passed through the DA Core as they fully realized what they had just surmised.

"So, the logical question would be, what now?" Hermione said.

Several moments of silence passed, the gravity of the situation hanging solemnly in the air. They almost couldn't believe what they were thinking, their own thoughts seemingly having gone off without them. However, what they couldn't deny was the possibility of Voldemort's own desire for all-consuming power. It seemed unlikely, only the insane having the gall to attack the castle, if that was in fact what he was planning. Then again, one was half off his broom to not consider Voldemort insane.

"What if we were to pull Dumbledore's Army together again?" Ginny offered. "Would you do it Harry?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"There's a problem with that, though," Hermione said. "How can we be sure who's still loyal. And even then, just because we can't prove that someone is loyal doesn't mean that they aren't."

"You have a point," Ginny said. "And we can't just go around broadcasting that we suspect Voldemort's going to attack. Dumbledore would have our heads, not to mention what would happen if the Daily Prophet got wind of this. Plus, we're not even completely sure."

"It's a definite possibility though," Harry said.

"You all know how much what we say and do influence things around here," Hermione said.

"We need something better." Draco bit his lip as he played with a flame, the spark of red-orange light rolling across his fingers.

"And the lower years," Hermione continued. "If this is going to happen; if this is really for real, then we're going to have to think of something to do with them."

"They don't have the skill or power for battle yet," Ginny said. "They'd be killed in an instant."

"And they'd be in the way," Ron added.

"Ronald!"

"Weasley, really," Draco drawled. "Have a little sensitivity, will you?"

Red around the ears, he ducked his head. "Jeez, sorry."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"There's a way," Luna said next. "I know of a way that everything can work."

Heads turning to stare at the blond haired girl, they were soon deep in discussion, reams of parchment being unearthed from bookbags and quills scribbling down plans.

* * *

The fates surveyed the DA Core's destiny, nods of satisfaction passing between them.

* * *

A week passed, the DA Core piecing together their plan between classes, Slughorn pestering them about the Slug Club meetings in Potions while Snape still looked for any reason to confiscate points from their houses in Defense; homework, a seven foot essay due in Charms the day after a four and a half research essay was due in Transfiguration; and quidditch practice, McLaggen still being a raving git about the results of the try-outs. Unfortunately, the heavy coarse load, dealing with Slughorn's face poking into their business more and more, and the amount of work Harry had in getting his newly formed quidditch team working together in a smooth manner meant that working on their plan took a back cauldron position to everything else. However, though it failed to take top priority, it was still at the forefront of their minds. Finally, a mere four days before Halloween, the DA Core met in the Room of Requirement, the room appearing as it once did during DA meetings. Although the room had reshaped itself into an exact replica, right down to the plush cushions and walls of defense books, the biggest change were the three people standing before the DA Core.

Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, Stephano Grismuth and Kristen Wright, the Slytherin DA members from last year, had all received invitations a day prior via owl, a gold galleon falling into their hands as they untied the parchments. The galleons, inscribed with a scripted DA on both sides, were not unlike those used last year to announce the secret DA meetings. However, though similar, the charms and enchantments cast upon them made them very different.

"Are you sure this'll work?" Ron had asked of Hermione two nights ago as she bent over three separate charms textbooks, one transfiguration book she'd filched from the restricted section, and two on runes, the galleons set out on the table before her.

"Yes, Ron, it should," she had said, his constant questions irritating her to a high degree. The spells that would achieve the goal they had in mind, when put together, were incredibly difficult to weave onto such a small object. Her utmost concentration had been evident in the beads of sweat that had showed on her brow.

Luckily, Hermione wasn't called the smartest witch in all of Hogwarts for nothing.

"Where is everybody else?" Ernie asked, glancing around at the emptiness of the large room.

"Something's going on," Stephano said next, his tone revealing that his statement was less of a guess and more of a deduction.

Harry stood forward. "I want to thank you for coming," he said to start off with. "Before I say anything else, we need to know if you're still loyal to the DA and to everything we stand for."

The three nodded, the confusion evident upon their faces, though Stephano was best at hiding it.

"We'll need it in writing again," Hermione said, stepping forward with a parchment and an enchanted quill. "By signing this contract, any betrayal would be punishable via obliviation."

"Obliviation?" Ernie said warily.

Draco nodded. "It's something we'll explain once you've signed the parchment, Macmillan."

Ernie looked Draco in the eye for a moment before nodding and taking the quill.

Once the contract was signed, Hermione folded it four times, tapping it with her wand, before slipping it into her bag. Harry then began to explain what he had overheard between Dumbledore and Snape, leaving out any pertinent information regarding the nature of his meeting with the headmaster. In turn, one beginning while the others finished in suit, the DA Core detailed their speculations that Voldemort was going to attack the school. They also shared their recent observations among the student population.

"And you're sure of this?" Ernie asked.

"Only as sure as we can be," Hermione said.

"I can't give you a definite answer as to if or when he will attack, but the chances are very high," Harry said. "We can't ignore this."

"I agree," Stephano said. "I think your reasonings are well thought out."

"And I've noticed the missing students as well," Kristen said. "I've even made a list." She reached into the pocket of her robes. "They must be connected."

"Excellent," Hermione said, her eyes scanning the detailed list of which students had gone missing and when they reappeared again. "This'll be very helpful."

"And I must repeat that we do not know for sure that Voldemort is going to attack the school," Harry reiterated. "I would rather that we be wrong."

"Do you have an estimated frame of time of when he will attack?" Stephano asked.

"Anywhere from now to the end of the school year."

"But the chances of it happening sooner than later are far greater," Ginny said. "We need to be ready."

"So, what's the plan?" Ernie said.

"In the event of an attack," Harry said. "You, Ernie, Stephano, Kristen, and Luna and Neville…" The two DA Core members mentioned stepped forward. "…are going to be the DA house leaders within your own houses. If, or when, Voldemort attacks, you'll each receive a message…"

Hermione stepped up. "Each of you will have a galleon," she said, handing Ernie, Stephano, Kristen, Neville, and Luna a galleon. "Its enchanted to heat up if the school is threatened. If that happens…"

"…there will be a chain of events that will occur," Draco continued. "First, and your first priority, is to get the first through third years out of the castle."

"How?" Ernie interrupted.

"On the third floor there is a statue of a hump-backed witch. Tap it with your wand and it will open up to a long passage. It leads to the cellar in Honeydukes'," Ron explained.

"And if we can't get them there?" Ernie asked, Kristen nodding.

"Just pray that you can," Hermione said.

"Afterwards," Harry continued, "you gather up as many students in your house as you can…and we fight."

"That's it? We just fight?" Ernie challenged. "No plans?"

"That's all we can do," Ginny said. "We don't have any specifics about when it'll happen, where they'll enter the castle, who'll they'll bring, or what they'll do; and I don't suspect that we will when it happens. It will most likely be a surprise attack, and the element of surprise could possibly null and void any battle plans we may create."

"It's better to rely on our own ability to be flexible rather than an intricately created plan," Draco said. "We may just have to fly by the straws of our brooms. It's not ideal, but we think it's the best chance we've got."

"This'll work?" Ernie asked, crossing his arms as his mind worked through the DA Core's plan.

"We'll have to make it work," Stephano said.

"If the odds are against us, then we'll need to be ready," Kristen added. "I don't like it, but if it's happening, then there's nothing else we can do."

* * *

With the plan in place, the normal pace of a school day seemed almost surreal for the DA Core, Ernie, Stephano, and Kristen included. Charms homework, Potions essays, and quidditch practice all seemed mundane and strangely ordinary in the face of the information that they possessed. However, no matter how normal their lives appeared, things just kept escalating. Four days after the meeting, the greatest number of students went missing from Hogwarts. It being Halloween, the kitchens notoriously indulgent during that particular holiday, the absence of such a great number of students was immensely strange in the face of the smorgasbord of sweets, pies, pastries, and puddings the houseelves supplied.

For the first time in almost a century, the Halloween feast, complete with an army of carved pumpkins and enchanted bats fluttering about, was a dull and sordid affair, the number of missing students grossly obvious. Dumbledore, who always enjoyed the feast, was also absent, McGonagall's face drawn and tense. The DA Core, after making an appearance long enough to consume a cauldron cake or two, Ron stuffing a few ice mice into his pockets at the last minute, quickly made their way out of the Great Hall and towards the seventh floor. However, before they even reached the fifth floor, Harry collapsed.

Neville, who had been behind Harry, luckily caught him before his head made a rather nasty impact on the stone floor and lowered him safely to the ground.

Looking one way and then the other down the hallway, it being empty, Hermione gestured to an empty classroom a three-paces walk away. "Quick, let's get him in here," she said.

Harry awoke to the sight of six faces crowded around him and a sick feeling in his stomach. "I think I know where all the students are tonight," he said gravely.

To an audience of stricken faces and tense shoulders, he told them of his vision. Tonight, the night of All Hallow's Eve, was the night Voldemort inducted three dozen new deatheaters into his brotherhood. What set these new recruits apart from the current set of deatheaters was not only their lack of size or skill, but the fact that they were the youngest group of deatheaters Voldemort had ever initiated into his ranks.

"This is bad," Neville had said. "This is really, really bad."

"No shit, Longbottom," Draco agreed.

"We need to tell Dumbledore," Ginny said, the others agreeing.

However, Dumbledore's absence at that evening's feast expanded to include Hogwarts as a whole. McGonagall, his temporary stand in, gave no help at all, denying that anything was going on and refusing to send along a message to the headmaster.

"I'm sorry, but that will not be possible," she had said earlier that evening when the seven of them barged into her office. "The headmaster can not be reached."

"But we think Voldemort is up to something," Harry pleaded, repeating what he had seen in his vision. "You can't ignore it."

She pressed her lips together. "Now, I'm not discrediting your allocations, but for a moment think about what you're saying," she said sternly.

"You must listen, professor," Hermione spoke up.

"To announce publicly that there were suspicions that Voldemort were initiating students…_**students**_into his ranks…"

"But it doesn't have to be public…"

"We would have to alert parents," she said to Ginny, looking the red-head in the eye. "An explanation would of course be in order. What, pray tell, would you suggest we say?"

Her question was warranted no answer. The DA Core looked stricken as their minds cast about for other ideas.

"Plus, these are mere children. He doesn't take children," she said.

"How do you know?" Harry asked, his tone bordering on forceful.

"Mr. Potter, watch your tone," she scolded.

He murmured an apology.

"But professor," Hermione said. "What if he _**is**_ initiating students into his deatheater ranks?"

"First, Miss Granger, it would be foolish on his part," she said smartly. "Second, if such a situation were happening, the headmaster would most certainly know. I assure you that nothing of a sort is going on."

"But…"

"Now, I believe this conversation is finished," she said, folding her hands atop the desk.

"Professor, where _**is**_ the headmaster?" Draco spoke up.

McGonagall pressed her lips together. "Mr. Malfoy, I believe I've already said that this conversation is over," she said. "There will be no more questions."

The DA Core sighed, hanging their heads not in admittance of failure but in grievous realization of the situation they were suddenly in. They had no freaking idea, and nobody would listen. McGonagall then smiled at them, the hardness around her features lessening slightly.

"Don't look so glum," she said to the lot of them. "There's still what's left of the Halloween feast to enjoy. Go on, everything is alright."

Leaving her office, the first words said came from Ron's mouth.

"She's hiding something."

"Obviously," Draco said.

For the DA Core, this was only the beginning, for the next morning, Draco entered his Ero Lumen.

* * *

And their fate, their destiny was set into motion, something that would pick up momentum as time went on. They were not merely a means to an end, pawns in the grand scheme of the universe. No, they were much more than that.


	50. Ero Lumen

**Author's Note** – Yay for Summer! And hooray for Ero Lumen! There's a fanfic recommendation at the end of this chapter. Check it out…and review this!

**Another Note** – The chapter title, "Ero Lumen," is actually derived from Latin, Lumen meaning light. Ero was just thrown in there for a good time.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own anything pertaining to Harry Potter. However everything to do with the Ignius is mine.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty**

"Ero Lumen"

* * *

Saturday evening, Draco paced from one end of his room to the other. Agitated, frustrated, and his being filled with an intense longing, he growled and clenched his fist. For the first time in months, his control on his fire faltered, the evidence of which filled the room. The timing of his Ero Lumen could not have been more poorly planned. He didn't need this right now. The feeling ate away at his mind, gnawing and seething within the confines of his psyche. Running a hand through messy hair, he spun on his heel when a tap at the window drew his attention. An owl waited on the window ledge. Grumbling, he opened the window, the owl depositing the post on his bed before turning wing and flying away.

"Oh, bloody fucking hell," he directed at the rosy-shaded letter sitting innocently upon his bed spread.

His morning had been a disaster; hell, the whole day had been a nightmare. How the Daily Prophet had caught wind of his Ero Lumen, Draco didn't want to know. All he was conscious of was the notion as he went down for breakfast that morning, aware of the budding, over-night changes that were happening within him, that every eye directed upon him was of a female nature. However, that was really nothing out of the ordinary taking Draco's attracting nature into consideration. He had approached the Gryffindor table, Ron giving him a nod as he ate breakfast with Lavender. The general tone of that morning's conversation zeroed in on the quidditch match set to take place later that day.

"Morning, love," Hermione had greeted him, kissing his cheek.

He reciprocated with a peck on the forehead, sliding in beside her. Then, from the myriad of owls swarming overhead, that morning's issue of the Daily Prophet plunked down on the table.

**DRACO MALFOY: A SEARCH FOR HIS MATE HAS COMMENCED!**

Was nothing in his life private any longer, he had thought bitterly. The morning headline's message traveled through the Great Hall, feminine chatter increasing at an exponential rate. However, no matter the batting eyelashes, squeals, and shouted proclamations, Draco could only watch as Hermione's expression sank, the newspaper dropping from her fingers. His heart shuddered, certainly missing a beat.

"You couldn't have told me?" was her first question, the obvious hurt dripping from her voice.

The words stuck in his throat.

"How long have you known?" she asked. "Surely long enough for the Daily Prophet to report on it." Tossing the paper to the side, her mouth twisted into a nasty snarl. "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

"Hermione, no, I…"

"Nice going, Mate," Ron chided, his eyes narrowed at Draco.

"RON!" Lavender smacked him upside the head.

"Ow, Lav!"

"Don't be insensitive!"

Hermione, oblivious to the exchange between Ron and Lavender, continued in on Draco. "You were just going to let me find out through the _Daily Prophet_?" Her voice increased in volume, half of Gryffindor and a portion of the other houses looking on, more and more eyes gravitating towards the daily gossip forming right before their eyes.

"I don't know how they found out," he said.

"Oh, right, of course," she said, standing up and gathering up her belongings. "Well I'm not going to stick around and watch.

His head turned as she heaved her bag onto her shoulder.

"And you're a right git," she added as an afterthought before stalking out of the Great Hall.

Draco was suddenly aware of a finger trailing across his shoulders. He whipped his head around.

"Hello, sexy," Romilda Vane simpered. She surreptitiously slipped something into his hand. "Hope you have a great day."

"Get out of here Vane," Ginny shouted. "Leave him alone."

"Bite it, Weasley," she snapped. "Stop being so jealous."

Drawing her wand, Ginny sprang up from her seat. "I'll show you jealous you bit-"

"_Sit down_," Harry hissed, pulling her back down.

Smirking, Romilda gave Draco one more heated glance before sashaying onward.

Eyes blinking owlishly, Draco sat in a stunned silence. He looked down at his hand, a small vile of pink liquid sitting innocently in his palm. Sneering, he tossed the glass vile onto the floor, it smashing into a dozen pieces, the liquid spraying across the flagstones. The distinct essence of a love potion permeated the immediate vicinity. Then, ignoring Romilda's indignant screech, he got up and walked out of the Great Hall.

For nearly an hour and a half, he had wandered the castle, checking all of Hermione's usual stomping grounds. He desperately needed to talk to her, the urge twisting painfully in the pit of his belly. Twenty minutes into his search, he became aware of footsteps following him. Whipping around, the faint sounds of giggling followed. A face peeked around the corner. Wanting to shout up to the heavens for this incorrigible problem of his, he turned and stomped off. However, as time went on, he was loathe to admit that a rather sizable group of girls were following him, the covert sneaking around they had exhibited at the start falling so obviously to the wayside.

Picking up speed, he turned a corner and then another, hoping to loose them. However, all he achieved was a face full of hair as he crashed into somebody. His senses were immediately assaulted with the essence of peaches.

The girl giggled. "Hello," she said shyly.

"Hi," he said tersely, stepping to the side.

She blocked his path. "My name's Bridget." Smiling, she twirled a strand of blond hair around one finger.

"Um, right, I have to go," he said, pointing down the hall behind her.

Gigging again, she swatted him on the shoulder. "No, silly, you don't," she said before turning all dreamy in the eyes. "You know, I think we'd be perfect for each other. I have blond hair…you have blond hair, and such lovely, lovely hair too." She reached up, fingers outstretched. "I've always wanted to run my fingers through it."

Leaning away from her clawing hands, he tried to step away as an enraged voice shouted from behind. "Bridge! You get your hands away from my man."

Romilda Vane marched up to them and slapped Bridget straight across the face.

"Ow! Milda, what was that for?" Tears sprung in Bridget's eyes.

Draco took one slow step backwards, his eyes warily watching the two girls.

"Oh, you know exactly what that was for."

Angered, Bridget dropped the tears and punched her fists into her hips. "I've loved him since third year," she claimed. "And you've always been jealous!"

"Oh, please," Romilda said, waving Bridget's proclamation to the side. "Save it for someone who cares. He's mine, and that's all you need to know."

Carefully, he took another step away and then one more, one eye latched onto the approaching corner.

"Ugh!" Bridget stomped one of her kitten-heel clad feet. "You always do this! I'm sick and tired of you always stealing my boyfriends."

"Boyfriend?" Romilda deadpanned.

"Yes," Bridget stated confidently.

"What ever happened to Michael Corner?" she asked.

"Well…we broke up," she said. "Draco's my boyfriend now, and you better stay away."

The corner was barely three steps away.

"Broke up my fine arse," Romilda shouted. "I saw you two snogging just this morning!"

"Nu uh, it was a break up snog," Bridget said, wheedling her fingers together. "I felt bad for him."

"Well, either way, you better keep your little paws off of Draco," she said. "He has chosen me. Isn't that right, Drakey?" She turned around.

And that's when Draco made a break for it. Sprinting down the adjacent corridor, he made a left, then two rights, slipped behind an old tapestry that hid a well-used secret passageway, emerging into a random hallway on the second floor. Panting, he paused, listening. Hearing nothing, he quickly walked down the corridor towards the central hub of staircases that would lead him to the seventh floor. However, luck never being on Draco's side, the distant sounds of girls in pursuit soon arose in a conjoining hallway, quickly growing closer. Making a split-second decision, Draco ran down the hallway and ducked into the out-of-order bathroom at the end of it.

Leaning against the door, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. However, as soon as he did, he became aware of another pair of eyes set upon him. Opening his eyes, he stared at the translucent form of Moaning Myrtle.

"Oh bloody hell on toast," he groaned, banging the back of his head against the door.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy," she cooed, floating too and fro. "There are quite a lot of rumors going around about you."

"Leave me alone," he asked.

"I find them to be quite interesting, interesting indeed," she said, tilting her head to the side as she smiled. "I've always admired you."

He mashed his lips together, his jaw clenched almost painfully. "I swear on Merlin's own beard if you don't leave me alone I will personally call Peeves upon you," he seethed, hands clenched at his sides.

Enraged, she exhaled loudly, barring her teeth at him. "Well, you don't have to be so nasty about it," she said before taking a howling whirl around the old, rundown, girls' loo and dove into the furthest toilet, a splash of water rippling across the cracked tiles.

Sighing, Draco wearily closed his eyes and slid to the floor. It was quite some time before he pulled himself up from the floor and ventured back into the hallway. The only luck on his side was the scheduled quidditch game between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Therefore, the corridors were relatively empty, and he hoped the mob of girls had given up. Quickly, he made it up to the seventh floor and paced exactly three time up and down the hallway before the door appeared. Walking over to one of the couches, he pushed a blue sweater left behind, Luna's he thought, to the side and collapsed onto the cushions. Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep, though the nervous twitch running through his body disrupted any peace he yearned for; that is, until the door to the Hide Away room crashed open.

"We won! You wouldn't believe the save I did at the end of the match right before Harry got the snitch," Ron shouted, barging into the room, Harry and Ginny following him. Still clad in full quidditch gear, they obviously came straight from the match.

Draco opened one eye. "That's great," he monotoned. "Congratulations."

"Are you alright, mate?" Harry asked.

"Bloody fantastic," he replied, throwing one arm over his eyes. His head ached with everything going on.

"We're having a party in the common room. Everyone's down there right now," Ron said. "Dean and Seamus are in the kitchens getting butterbeer and food. You should come."

"Maybe later. I'm not feeling all that great," he said, though what he really meant was that Hermione would definitely be there, and he would rather not see her right now.

"Hermione'll be there," Ginny said, coming to stand beside him.

"I'd rather not see her."

"It might be good to talk to her," she offered.

"Thanks, Weaslette, but not right now," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"It'll be fun," Harry added.

He shook his head, his arm obscuring his eyes.

They sighed.

"Alright," Ginny said.

"But, Draco?" Harry said, waiting for the other boy to look at him.

Moving his arm, Draco glared up at Harry. "What?"

He tossed something at Draco, it landing in his lap in a pool of silky fabric. "Just in case you do want to come, wear this," he said. "The girls are on the prowl again." Harry turned to leave, and then remembering something, spun back around. "Oh, the password tonight is _victory_, and the Fat Lady is allowing in people from other houses as long as they have the password. Some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws wanted to come. Oh, and Stephano and Kristen will be there too."

Once they had gone, Draco held up Harry's invisibility cloak for a moment before dropping it back into his lap. It covered the lower half of his torso to his knees, those portions of his body turning invisible. Laying back down, he spent the next half hour mulling over his predicament, debating whether or not to go down to the party, whether or not he should talk to Hermione. Then, sitting up, the cloak slipping to the floor, his feet now invisible, he ran a hand through his hair and stood up. Briskly passing a hand down the sides of his pants, ridding them of any wrinkles, he passed over a small lump in his right pocket. Frowning, he reached in to grab it, not remembering there being anything in his pockets.

Felix Felicis.

The desire to down the vial, an almost guaranteed solution to his problem, passed strongly through his mind. Holding the glass vial up to the light, he swirled the potion around, the golden hued liquid reflecting the low-set lights in a very appealing manner.

"No," he said to himself, shaking his head. He couldn't use something like that to fix things with Hermione.

So, slipping the potion back into his pocket, he stooped, picked up the invisibility cloak and threw it around his shoulders. Glancing down at himself, assured that no part of him was visible, he left the Hide Away room.

* * *

If not for their courage, the Gryffindors were surely infamously known for the raucous parties thrown in their common room after quidditch victories. All of Gryffindor, a good dozen and a half Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and a small handful of Slytherins were present. Those of the green insignia were limited to Stephano, Kristen, and a timid-looking first year named Lucy. The houseelves, adamantly pleased to supply the students with a feast of treats, went all out. A self-stocking cooler of butterbeer sat on one of the tables, mountains of cauldron cakes, custard tarts, mint and chocolate humbugs, trifle, and treacle tarts filled the other tables. Along the far wall, a Gryffindor banner hung, a dozen golden snitches stitched into the fabric sparkling in the firelight.

Somebody had brought down their Wizarding Wireless, the rocking beats of Magic Marvin's latest hit giving the students a rhythm to dance to. In the center of the room, standing on one of the low coffee tables, Katie Bell graciously shared her victory speech with the rest of the party-goers.

"…and of course, we couldn't have done it without you," she said, "our loyal and faithful fans. Now, let's have another round of…Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!" Punching her fist into the air, she led the chant as the rest of the students caught on. That carried on for a time before she spotted Harry and, reaching down, pulled him up onto the table alongside her.

Ginny, who stood right below him, grinned and held up one of her hands. "Potter! Potter! Potter!"

As the students caught onto the next chant, Draco entered through the portrait after giving the Fat Lady the password. Looking around, he raised an eyebrow. So, this was a Gryffindor party. Forcing a smile, he blended into the crowd, several people nodding heads or smiling at him. Harry, still up on the table, spotted Draco and grinned at him, giving him a thumbs up. Rolling his eyes, he returned the gesture with a semi-playful display of his middle finger before looking for Hermione, the real reason he had shown up. It wasn't difficult to find her, the Gryffindor common room being small, even when packed with people. He spotted her bushy head of hair across the room and quickly pushed through the crowd.

"Hermione?" he said once he was within speaking distance.

She turned and her face fell at the sight of him. "I don't want to talk to you," she said, crossing her arms. "Why did you even come?"

"I need to talk to you."

Turning her shoulder, she hugged herself. It was obvious that she was holding back tears.

"Please, just listen to me," he said, reaching out and taking her arm.

His touch elicited a sob from her throat, and turning away, she dashed up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

Groaning, he hung his head.

"No luck?"

Looking up, he shook his head at Ginny, his shoulders drooping.

"Want me to go up and talk to her? She might listen to me."

He gave it a quick consideration. "Would you?"

"Sure," she said, disappearing up the stairs.

Sighing, Draco leaned against the wall, ignoring the looks from a few girls who had spotted him. His indifference seemed to work in his favor for they left him alone. Glancing up the stairs, he wondered what was taking Ginny so long. Worried thoughts passed through his head. What if Hermione never talked to him again? Did she hate him? Oh Merlin, he couldn't bear to stand it if she did. Even the thought ripped at his heart.

Finally, right when Draco was set to give up, Hermione came down the stairs.

"You wanted to talk?" she said, standing before him.

"Yeah," he said, straining to hear over the noise. "Let's go out into the hall." He gestured with a hand, and she followed as he led the way.

Once out in the corridor, Hermione turned on him, her face angry but her eyes gave away the pain. "So, talk," she demanded.

Draco inwardly winced at her tone. "I only found out this morning," he said. "It wasn't like I was hiding it from you. You know I wouldn't do that."

Nothing was said.

"Come on, Hermione, you _know_ that I wouldn't do that to you," he said again, reaching out to touch her arm.

She bit her lip and shied away from his hand. "The Daily Prophet knew."

"The Daily Prophet apparently knows everything," he said exasperatedly. "You know just as well that you shouldn't read into anything they say."

She sighed tremendously.

"You know this."

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "I know, I know that…I just…" she said, trailing off, and then added in a whisper, "I'm sorry."

"I am too."

She frowned. "What for?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he pulled an apologetic face. "I've been kinda avoiding you today," he said. "…and the hoards of girls after me. They're ruthless."

Nodding silently, Hermione looked off to the side as if she wanted to say something but didn't quite know how to put it into words. "So, have you…do you know…"

Draco shook his head. "No, I haven't found her yet," he said. "It might take a while."

Hermione nodded, never having felt this awkward in Draco's presence before. Hugging herself, she shifted from one foot to the other. "What happens now?"

Sighing, he looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "I don't know," he said. "I really don't know. This is just…just so confusing."

"I feel so stupid," she said quietly.

"What? Why?" he asked, looking directly at her.

"I knew this would happen when we both starting going out," she said, glancing up at him. "We both knew it, Draco."

"Yeah, I know." He was quiet for a moment, an awful thought registering. "You don't regret this, do you?"

Brown eyes met his silver grays, sadness echoing. "I…I don't know," she said. "I have to go." Giving him one last look, she turned to step back through the portrait.

"Why?" he asked.

"I just need to be alone."

"Oh."

And with nothing else, she slipped back through the portrait, leaving Draco with a heavy heart.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, Mathew puttered around the classroom after his appointment with Draco, straightening up a stack of parchments and tossing out a few week-old Daily Prophets. A knock at his door had him looking up.

"Come in," he called, figuring Draco had forgotten something.

Instead of his typical patient, a girl with a mass of curly hair poked her head in. "Hi," she said, entering into the room fully. "I was wondering if you had a moment."

He studied her for a moment. "Hermione, I presume?" he guessed.

She smiled and nodded.

"Come in," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

Shyly, Hermione sat down, Mathew taking his usual chair adjacent to her.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"I've…I've never done this before," she said, toying with the fabric of her skirt.

"It's alright, once you get going it's actually not that difficult," he reassured, propping one foot on top of the opposite knee.

"It's just…I'm just…" She glanced upwards. "I'm so bloody _stupid_. I knew this would happen, and I still allowed myself to fall for him."

"I'm going to assume you're talking about Draco."

Hermione nodded. "Before we even agreed to go out, I knew this would eventually happen someday," she said.

"You knew what, exactly, would happen?"

She glanced at him. "That he would eventually have to find his bonded," she said. "I knew that, but at the time it seemed so far away."

"And now that it's here…"

"And now that it's happening, I wish…I wish I hadn't fallen for him in the first place," she said. "But, no, not really. I love him. I really do love him."

"Mmhmm," he said, nodding.

"I just _hate_ the idea of him with somebody else," she said and then shook her head disbelievingly. "I can't believe I'm getting this jealous already."

"Jealousy is a normal human emotion."

"I know," she said. "It's just…this is such a mess."

Mathew shifted slightly in his chair. "Tell me, Hermione, what are you most afraid of?" he said.

Hermione shifted. "I don't know…"

He smiled softly. "I believe you do," he said.

She sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "That he'll love somebody else…he'll find somebody better," she said, the words coming out strained, and then added in a small, quiet voice, "that he'll forget about me."

"Now, I find that hard to believe," he said. "Have you always been romantically involved with Draco?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we've been friends for years."

"Then how can he forget about you?" he said. "Often, friendship runs deeper than a relationship."

"Yes, I know. I'm being irrational," she said. "But I can't help it. I feel like I've already lost him."

"You know how I see things, Hermione?" he said.

"How?"

"You have every right to be feeling like this," he said. "Uncertainty and the knowledge that you don't know what is going to happen can be very unsettling. Have you told him these feelings you've been having?"

"Merlin, no," she said. "They'd complicate things for him. I don't want to do that."

"You don't want to, or are you scared to?"

That caused Hermione to think, reevaluating her emotions. "I guess I'm scared," she said.

"And that's alright," he said. "You're allowed." He smiled gently.

Hermione sighed. "What if this all goes wrong?"

"As in what happens if the shit hits the fan?" he asked.

She laughed humorlessly. "Yeah."

"If it happens, then it happens, but just don't forget the friend you have in him," he said. "There will always be other fish in the sea, so to speak."

"I know, but none of them are Draco."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing."

"It seems like it."

"I know it does," he said. "Now, I don't want to sound rude, but I'm needing to return to my office in London."

"Oh, right," she said, standing up. "I have studying to do, anyways."

"It was nice to finally meet you, Hermione," he said. "And I'm sure things'll work out, one way or another."

"I hope so," she said, picking up her bag.

* * *

Monday morning dawned bright and early for Draco, sleep not coming easy for him. Rolling over, he grabbed the bedside clock, peering at the numbers. 6:18 AM. Groaning, he flopped onto his back, pushing the hair out of his face. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before deciding to get up, it being no use lying in bed for half an hour. Showering, something he took his sweet time doing, he reemerged dressed in his school uniform as he towel-dried his hair before charming it dry the rest of the way. The next fifteen minutes he used as mirror-time, fixing his hair this way and then that way, a stubborn chunk in the back refusing to lay flat. Sighing, he let it be and reached for his robes, doing a quick lint check before throwing them on. The time read 7:35 as he grabbed his bag and left the room.

He made his way leisurely down to the Great Hall without too much trouble, barring the few detours he had to make in order to avoid some too-eager individuals of the female persuasion. Breakfast was well underway as he entered the great room, the majority of the teachers already present, though Dumbledore was again absent. Squeezing between Harry and Neville, he reached over and grabbed the large serving dish of oatmeal, and as he did so, he became aware of a certain degree of tension in the current conversation.

"What's going on?" he asked, filling his bowl with oatmeal until it was almost overflowing.

"Read this," Harry said and that morning's issue of the Daily Prophet was suddenly thrust into Draco's hands.

Taking the paper, he spotted the usual articles, most pertaining to himself and his recent search for his bonded. "Yeah, so? They've been reporting on my Ero Lumen for almost a week now," he said.

"No, not that," Neville said, pointing to another article at the bottom of the front page. "This."

**DEATHEATER ATTACK**

**Muggle Bridge Targeted in First Activity in Months**

Written by Penny Broomhilda

_In what was the first Deatheater attack in months, a highly used bridge in downtown London was targeted and destroyed late Sunday night…_

"Well, shit," he said, reading through the article.

"Before you came down we were talking about those missing students," Harry said. "They were gone again last night."

"Though they're back this morning," Neville pointed out.

"You don't think?" Draco said.

"That's exactly what we think," Ginny said.

At that moment, Hermione appeared, later than usual that morning. She faltered as she approached the DA Core, her eyes flicking between sitting beside Ginny or sitting next to Draco. Shifting from one foot to the other, she deliberated before finally making her decision.

"Budge over a bit, please," she said to Draco.

He glanced up, scooting a bit to the right as she sat down next to him. "There's been a deatheater attack," he said, handing her the paper, the rumpled parchment a pseudo-olive branch passed between the two of them.

Meeting his eyes hesitantly, she took the paper, her eyes soon growing wide as she read the article.

Draco, who had been following the conversation previously, suddenly found himself consumed by something else all together. He glanced at Hermione, his eyes widening as he looked as where their arms touched, their bodies pressed against each other at the crowded table. It was something he had never felt before. However, considering things, he should have known all along that it was her. Taking a deep breath, he let it out in relief as an intense feeling of calm and contentment washed over him. It made him grin in a manner of which he was sure made him look half mad. Bloody hell, he should have known.

* * *

**Recommendation** – I would like to take a moment to recommend Living With Danger, by whydoyouneedtoknow. I'm currently reading it for a third time. It's the first in a series of Harry Potter fanfics. It is, by far, the best series of fanfics out there. I would highly recommend reading it. You won't be disappointed!


	51. Unus

**Author's Note** – Again, let's hear it for Summer!

**Another Note** – The chapter title means, "The One," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty One**

"Unus"

* * *

Draco couldn't stop staring at her. Reaching out with one hand, he found her hand and grabbed it. The sensation immediately intensified, nearly taking his breath away as his heart began to race. It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting; however, how was he supposed to know what finding your bonded would feel like? He was, after all, the only known Ignius in existence.

At Draco's touch, Hermione turned. "What?" she asked in a somewhat snappish manner.

He couldn't help the grin that formed on his face, but it quickly disappeared as she frowned. "Nothing," he said, glancing around at the other students eating breakfast and the conversation still going on about last night's deatheater attack.

There was no question, he had to tell her, but his eyes caught sight of Romilda Vane sitting further down the table. He knew he couldn't do it here where the prying eyes of Hogwarts could watch. Returning his eyes to his immediate surroundings, he made eye contact with Ginny.

She raised her eyebrows in an inquisitory manner, catching wind of something happening.

Widening his eyes, he nodded his head in Hermione's direction.

Ginny frowned.

Draco pointed to himself and then at Hermione several times.

Recollection dawned on her face, her jaw dropping.

At that moment, the bells chimed, announcing the end of breakfast and the beginning of classes. Hermione stood and, reaching down to grab her bag, met Draco's eyes. They held each other's eye contact for several long moments before she broke it off and made a hurried dash from the Great Hall.

"Were you trying to tell me what I think you were trying to tell me?" Ginny said as they followed the stream of students exiting the Great Hall.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, matching pace with Ginny.

Neville and Ron caught up, Luna skipping along merrily.

"She is, isn't she?" Luna beamed. "It's Hermione. I knew it."

"Is it?" Ginny insisted, an excitement glowing in her features.

"Is what?" Neville asked.

"Have you told her?" Ginny insisted.

Draco shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why not?!" She smacked him upside the head.

"Oi!" Ron then shouted, interrupting Draco and stopping everybody in the middle of the hallway. "What in the bloody hell is going on?!"

Ginny looked at Draco, the rest of them following suit. However, it wasn't Draco that spoke.

"Draco's found his bonded," Luna said softly.

* * *

At lunchtime, the Daily Prophet published a special mid-day edition. It was unfortunately delivered as the DA Core sat down for lunch, one such issue landing right in front of Hermione.

**DRACO MALFOY FINDS HIS BONDED**

**One Lucky Girl Has Heard His Song**

By. Rita Skeeter

_Romilda Vane, daughter to Edward and Sylvia Vane, has indeed heard Draco Malfoy's song…_

"Why do they still go on about me singing?" Draco shouted, having only glanced at the headline. "I do not sing."

Hermione, who had been sitting next to him, scooted over abruptly. Sensing this, Draco glanced at her. As this happened, the DA Core groaned collectively. Down the table, Romilda Vane and her posse of girls squealed. Glancing around in confusion, he caught sight of the rest of the article. A photo was featured inlaid within the text. Reaching over, Draco snatched a copy of the paper.

"WHAT?!"

"Congratulations," Hermione muttered.

"Wait, this isn't…"

"I'm sure you'll be happy with her," she continued to say.

"But, I don't…"

"I should have known…"

"Hermione…"

"…she was so caught up in you…"

"You've got this all…"

She got up from the table quickly, knocking into the bench noisily.

"…wrong." Draco's last word was left unheard by Hermione as she rushed out of the Great Hall.

"This is all wrong," he said, looking up at the DA Core.

"I thought you were going to tell her." Ginny turned towards him.

"Yeah, so did I," Harry said.

"I am," Draco answered. "She's been avoiding me all morning."

"You've had two classes with her already," Ginny said.

Draco sighed and was soon to find himself being hit with the rolled up paper.

"You're such a prat," she said disgustedly. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm going to tell her. It just hasn't been the right time. You think I'm going to do this while half the school watches?" he argued.

She rolled her eyes. "Isn't that what our Hide Away is for?"

Draco growled exasperatedly.

"Either way, you need to do it," she instructed before returning to the newspaper. "How could they print this crap?" Ginny asked.

"I've asked myself that same question many times," Harry said ruefully.

"So, it's definitely Hermione, then?" Neville asked.

"Yes, Longbottom," Draco said, rubbing at his face in frustration. "Do you really think I'd go for this?" He held up the paper, pointing at the picture. The girl in the picture preened herself.

Neville grimaced. "I would hope not," he said.

"Of course he wouldn't," Luna said, touching Neville's arm. "He and Hermione are more than perfect for each other."

Draco grinned stiffly. "Thanks Luna."

A touch on his shoulder suddenly drew Draco's attention.

"It was you last night singing to me, wasn't it? You have such a lovely voice, like an angel."

Draco tensed at the voice as the DA Core stirred in anger.

"You better have a good explanation for this," Ginny shouted, holding up the Daily Prophet.

Romilda ran her hand down Draco shoulder. "Don't be jealous, Weasley," she said. "He's chosen me."

Ginny stood up, her face flushing.

"Sit down," Draco requested, his voice an order. His eyes bored into her, the anger surfacing.

"Yes, Weasley, sit down and control your primal urges," Romilda taunted, sneering.

"Romilda…"

"Yes, my love?" she simpered.

Draco took a deep breath, aware of the entire Great Hall watching him. "You are not my bonded," he said, his shoulders tensing.

"Don't be silly, of course you are," she said. "I heard you singing to me last night. It was the most beautiful song about flowers and the sun."

From down the table, somebody shouted, "Romilda, you tramp, that was my wireless you heard last night."

"No, Drakey, set them right," she demanded.

Sighing, Draco stood up, and looked directly at Romilda.

She sighed dreamily.

"_I __**do not**__ sing_," he said. "Nor are you my bonded."

She paused before giggling nervously. "You kid."

He pressed his lips together in anger, his nostrils flaring and his wings fluttering dangerously. The DA Core scooted away, though Romilda stepped forward.

"You love me," she said.

Closing his eyes, Draco growled.

"Tell me you love me, Drakey, not that ugly Granger girl."

And that was it, the proverbial wand that broke the thestral's back.

"I AM **NOT** YOUR BONDED," he hollered at the top of his lungs. "Where you got that _ridiculous_ idea, I do not know. _**Nor**__ do I sing_," he declared to the entire Hogwarts population. "So you need to stop falling all over me, it is terribly unbecoming of you and a bloody nuisance. And _**this**_," he shouted, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet and thrusting it into Romilda's face. "I know you had a part in this," he said. "And I swear on Merlin's own robes if you don't contact Skeeter and persuade her to print a retraction, I will personally come after you."

Dead silence.

"…and _**don't**_ call me Drakey," he added as an afterthought.

And then, slowly, Dumbledore stood from his chair.

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe that is enough. We have all gotten the message that Romilda Vane is not your bonded," he said.

Chest heaving, Draco looked up at Dumbledore. A stern and angry face met him, though the headmaster's eyes twinkled. Looking away, Draco gave Romilda a sneer. "Oh, and Hermione is the furthest thing from ugly," he said before turning on foot and stalking out of the Great Hall.

* * *

A stray front page to the Daily Prophet drifted down the north corridor on the second floor of the school. Romilda's face rolled in and out of sight as Hermione sullenly moved down the hallway that night after dinner. The paper, finally free of the draft which had it in flight, came to rest on the ground, the offending article facing upwards. Stepping up to it, Hermione looked down at the printed words and magical photo, the other girl's face alight with a snobby degree of happiness. Her nose upturned and her lips twisted within the magical ink. A wave of anger had Hermione scooping up the paper, crumpling it in her hands, and chucking it out of a nearby window. She watched as it fell to the ground, though the action did nothing to make her situation better.

The pain of rejection ached so horrendously, Hermione could barely stand it. Hugging herself, she dejectedly entered Myrtle's bathroom, seeking out one of the stalls. She closed the door behind herself, plopped down onto the toilet, and began to cry.

* * *

Draco skipped dinner that night, choosing instead to wander the castle in search of Hermione. Food did nothing but turn his stomach, not to mention his desire to avoid Romilda Vane at all costs. The anxiety that had nibbled at his resolve earlier that day had begun to gnaw at his gut as the day progressed, turning into sharp pains the longer it took him to find Hermione. He gripped his belly in discomfort.

* * *

Ginny hurried down the third floor hallway, hopped onto one of the staircases leading to the second floor. Just as it touched down, Ginny jumped off, the massive stone structure moving again. She cursed whoever had thought it a genius idea to make Giant-Sized Butterbeer, right after she found a loo, that was.

* * *

"Why are you crying?"

Hermione looked up at the form of Myrtle's ghost. She hiccupped.

"You're dreadfully loud, did you know?"

Tightening her grip on her abdomen, a piercing pain shoot through her organs, she cried even harder.

* * *

Cursing her tiny bladder, Ginny pushed through the closest girl' toilet. The door banging closed behind her, she thankfully entered the stall unnoticed by Moaning Myrtle. If there was one ghost in Hogwarts that grated on Ginny's nerves, it was definitely Moaning Myrtle.

* * *

Moaning Myrtle, who had been antagonizing the crying girl, quickly slipped back into the wall.

* * *

Finished with her business, Ginny became aware of a noise in the stall next to her. It started small and then grew into all out sobs. Zipping up her skirt, she pushed through the stall door and knocked on the adjoining one.

"You alright in there?" she called out.

The door creaked open, revealing Hermione.

"Oh Hermione," she gasped, falling to her knees to embrace her friend.

"It hurts," Hermione gasped.

"This is utter ridiculousness. Bloody prat," Ginny declared to the bathroom in general. "Just hold on a few minutes."

Getting to her feet, Ginny rushed out of the bathroom, intent on finding Draco Malfoy's arse and setting things straight.

* * *

Draco circled the third floor, growing more and more frustrated.

* * *

Ginny sprinted up to the seventh floor where she knew Harry, Ron, and Neville currently were surveying the Marauder's Map. Feeling helpless in their current situation with Lord Voldemort, they had magically tacked the map to one of the walls in the Hide Away room. Each night, and any spare moment they got, they watched the going-ons at Hogwarts and its surrounding environs. And it was exactly the map that Ginny needed if she was to find Draco.

"I need the map," she declared upon bursting into the room.

Harry, Ron, and Neville looked up. Luna, who had been reading quietly on one of the couches, diverted her attention.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Draco is a bloody wanker. Now give it to me," she said, holding out her hand. "You won't miss it, I promise."

Not wanting to argue with the angered girl, Harry quickly took the map down from the wall and gave it to Ginny.

Map in hand, Ginny hurriedly left the Hide Away and walked down the hallway, her eyes roaming through the narrowly drawn Hogwarts corridors. She found Draco's tiny icon pacing the third floor hallways. Folding up the aged parchment, she jammed it into her back pocket and headed for the third floor.

* * *

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione gasped, fingers clutching her abdomen.

* * *

Draco pressed the heels of his palms to the sides of his head, a steady drumming taking up residence within his head. Reaching the end of the hallway, he was suddenly accosted by an angry red-haired girl, her hand grabbing his arm and dragging him down the hallway.

"You're a bloody prat," Ginny ranted. "She's in Myrtle's bathroom, you idiot."

"Myrtle's loo," he said before ripping himself from her clutches and dashing down the hallway.

The stairs, for once, behaved as he set foot upon them, Draco taking them by twos and threes. Gasping for breath, nearly doubled over, he crashed through the bathroom door, it swinging closed behind him.

"Hermione?" he breathed.

A noise in the far stall drew his attention and he was soon pushing open the door. She sat hunched on the toilet, arms wrapped around herself. To Draco, the emotion that welled up in his throat almost choked him. Falling to his knees, he took her shoulders.

"Hey," he whispered. "Hey, it's ok."

A keening cry escaped her mouth at the same time the sharpness in the pit of his belly intensified. Wincing, Draco drew his hand upwards, his hand making contact with the skin of her neck. Immediately the pain ceased, Draco taking a deep breath of relief.

Hermione looked up, relief flooding through her. However, when she saw Draco kneeling in front of her, it only succeeded in producing a fresh set of tears. "Why are you here?" she cried. "I don't want to see you."

"Love, don't cry," he said, brushing away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"Why aren't you with Romilda?" she asked bitterly, her mouth twisting at the other girl's name.

"Why would I be?"

"She's your bonded."

"No, she's not."

Opening her mouth to say something else, Hermione halted. "But the Daily Prophet…"

"…is a load of hippogriff shit," he finished.

Hermione paused, dumbstruck.

"She's not my bonded."

His comment brought the twitch of a smile to her face.

"You know as well as any of us that you shouldn't believe a thing the Daily Prophet prints, especially if it's about us," he said. "Romilda's not my bonded." He shuddered at the thought. "She would be the last person I would want."

Hermione digested this information, her hand wiping at her eyes. Draco ran his fingers down her arms and grabbed her hands.

"But then…who…"

He squeezed her hands. "It's you," he said. "It's always been you."

She froze for several moments before slowly looking up at him. "Me?"

Grinning, he nodded. "Yeah, who else?"

"Really?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Woefully, Hermione burst again into tears, though they were more tears of relief than anything else. Slipping off of the toilet, she landed in his arms.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed into his shirt.

"What for?" he asked.

"I've been avoiding you."

"Yeah, well, I think I would have done the same thing," he said. "And, anyways, I'm the one who should be sorry. I really should have told you the moment I found out."

Resting her head on his shoulder, she pushed a soggy curl of hair out of her eyes. "When did you find out?"

"This morning at breakfast."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then, how did the Daily Prophet find out?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

Hermione laughed and then hugged him even tighter, her nose buried in the crook of his neck. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he answered.

"Let's never have this much drama."

He chuckled. "That's what I'm supposed to say."

Growling, she pinched him playfully. "Typical boy," she grumbled.

"Ow," he said, pulling away slightly.

"You baby," she retorted, looking him in the face.

Though her skin was blotchy and tear-stained, her smile caused his heart to skip a beat. He never thought he could feel such a way about another person before.

Hermione ducked her head, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. "So, what happens now?"

"Um, well, there's a ceremony we have to do," he said.

"Oh yeah?"

Nodding, he pushed her hair behind her shoulders. "Though, frankly, I'd rather we do it somewhere other than this loo," he said, glancing around at the dilapidated appeal of the bathroom. Faint splashing from the toilet two over alerted them to Myrtle's return, the ghost hovering, listening to their conversation.

"Where to then?"

He smiled. "Everybody's waiting in the Hide Away," he said.

* * *

Hermione stood facing Draco, the rest of the DA Core surrounding them, suddenly feeling nervous.

"This isn't going to hurt, is it?" she asked quietly.

"No, it shouldn't," he answered. "Here, take my hands."

She intertwined her fingers with his. Draco gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

"There's an oath we say," he explained. "I'll say it, and then we say it in unison."

"Alright," she said, shifting slightly.

"Ego vestra cum tu ascio," he said.

Mouthing the words several times, Hermione committed them to memory.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

"I am yours, as you are mine," he answered. "Ready?"

She nodded.

Silence passed between them, Draco closing his eyes. Hermione did the same, no sound being heard except the quiet crackling of the fire going in the fireplace. Energy seemed to filter into the room, swirling gently around the pair standing within the circle of their friends. It felt and smelled of ancient magic, magic of myth, magic of legend. The castle itself seemed to know what was happening, acknowledging the rarity of the event with a burst of its own magic. Then, they began to speak, their voices matched in perfect alignment.

"_Ego vestra cum tu ascio_," they spoke.

Once spoken, the words hung in the air for a stilled moment. Then, like a rush of wind, a heated energy ran from their hands into the other's body. Hermione gasped, her eyes snapping open. She smelt vanilla and spice, cinnamon running an undercurrent to the scent. It was familiar, very familiar. Every nerve danced beneath her skin, awake and livened by the rush of magic that had just surged through her. Slowly, Draco opened his eyes, the silver color sparkling in the firelight. Hermione couldn't help the smile that graced her lips.

Draco, not being able to resist, pulled her in for a kiss. His arms circled her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The DA Core cheered and whistled.

_**I could do this forever.**_

Hermione pulled away. "What?" she smiled.

He tilted his head to the side, a grin still pulling at his mouth. "I didn't say anything," he said. _**At least, I don't think I did.**_

"Yes you did," she said. "You said, quite clearly, 'I could do this forever.'"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm quite sure I didn't."

Hermione frowned, tapping her bottom lip. She was certain he had said something. Then, an idea occurred to her.

"Wait," she said.

"What?"

Very carefully, she said to herself, _**I think I have an idea.**_

_**And what would that be?**_

_**You can hear me?  
Hermione, I'm not deaf.**_

_**But I'm not speaking.**_

_**Yes, you are. You just…**_Draco stopped.

_**Exactly.**_

Draco's eyes widened.

From the sidelines, Ron grew impatient. "Oi, you two, stop oogling at each other and let's get the butterbeer going," he shouted.

Ginny, who stood between Ron and Harry, smacked him upside the head. An indignant, "ouch," followed soon after.

Draco took a moment to tear his eyes away from Hermione. "Alright, keep your cauldron on the fire, Weasley," he said.

And that commenced the celebrations. As Ron popped the cork on a dozen bottles of butterbeer, Ginny switching on the wireless, Draco grabbed Hermione's hand.

_**So, this is interesting.**_

_**I agree, though it could come in handy to have a private line of communication.**_

A chuckle echoed in her head.

_**It could most certainly come in handy.**_ A distinct air of teenaged boy perverseness was transmitted through their newly formed connection.

A prompt smack was all Hermione responded with.

* * *

The hour was late, the coals a mere glow in the fireplace and sunrise a not too far-off occurrence. Left to the devices of seven rowdy teenagers, the Hide Away exhibited the brunt of a post-party state. A few dozen butterbeer bottles were scattered across several tables, sprung corks dotting the carpeted floor in an array of random messiness. An assortment of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes products were strewn about the room, or rather, the remains of such. The lingering remnants of a few Wildfire Whiz-Bangs still hung in the air, giving the room a sulfurous edge. In the upper corner near the fireplace, a group of sparkling stars dipped and wove together, their magic having not yet worn off while the quickly fading forms of hearts, four-leaf clovers, and moons were still barely visible drifting about the ceiling.

"Lucky Charms!" Hermione had giggled a time ago, the half dozen bottles of butterbeer having gone to her head.

"What are Lucky Charms?" Draco had asked.

"A Muggle American cereal," she said. "They're _fantastic_."

The DA Core, themselves, were also scattered about the room in various stages of sleep. Ron lay where he had fallen an hour earlier, on the floor near the door, Neville and Luna not too far away. At some point during the night, Luna had thought it a fabulous idea to transfigure some of the butterbeer corks into shiny hair trinkets. In the low light, her hair still sparkled. Neville slept soundly, one arm around Luna, his face buried in her adorned hair.

Harry slept in a sprawl of arms and legs, him and Ginny somehow fitting themselves into one of the armchairs facing the fire. Head tilted back over the armrest, his mouth hung open, emitting wispy snores. Ginny, the first to crash that night, lay limply beside Harry, her legs resting on top of his while one of her arms was cast above her head.

On the couch, laying head to foot, the only two remaining DA Core members to still remain awake were sleepily conversing with each other, though words were not audibly heard.

_**You feel strange in my head**_, Hermione said to Draco.

_**Do I? What do I feel like?**_

_**Like a strong presence, but not overbearing. Gentle.**_

_**Hmm**_, he thought.

_**What do I feel like?**_

_**Very subtle, like waves lapping at my thoughts. Though, I imagine, you'd be quite persistent when you want something**_. The quipping tone leaked through their connection.

"Hey," Hermione whispered out loud, poking him with her big toe.

Draco quietly chuckled.

They grew quiet, only the soft breathing of their friends surrounding them, Ron's previous snores diminishing to a whistling snort. Draco closed his eyes, gradually drifting off to sleep. Hermione, though tired and on the gradual decline from the butterbeer buzz that had her giggling and giddy an hour earlier, remained awake and alert. Gently, she examined the new presence in her head, the presence of Draco. Like a tendril of fingers, she reached out to it. Draco stirred both beside her and within her mind.

_**What're you doing?**_ He asked, his thoughts lethargic with the throes of sleep.

_**Nothing**_, she said. _**Go back to sleep.**_

Slowly, he quieted in her mind. Then, again, she ventured outwards, careful not to touch his presence. Instead, she studied it from afar. He didn't crowd her mind, her consciousness making room for their connection. It hummed in the background of her thoughts. She wondered if it felt the same for him as it did for her, something she would ask him in the morning. Filing that thought away, she rechecked that he was sleeping. Carefully, she touched his presence again, a tentative little brush against him. Again, he stirred.

_**Will you quit it?**_

_**Sorry.**_

She sighed out loud, Draco sighing soon after within her mind.

_**What is it?**_ He grumbled.

_**I can't sleep**_.

_**Why?**_

_**I can't stop thinking.**_

_**What about?**_

_**This.**_

_**This?**_

_**Our connection.**_

Hermione felt him deliberate.

_**Come here,**_ he finally said, beckoning with his arms.

Sitting up, she crawled up towards him. Settling down beside him, Hermione sighed in contentment. Draco ran his hand through her hair.

_**Now, go to sleep. You can think about it in the morning.**_

Gentle heat soaked into her body, something that always relaxed her. Her limbs grew heavy, her mind cloudy. Draco closed his eyes, focusing his fire gently into her. Carefully, he monitored as she slowly faded within his own mind, the heat drawing her down into slumber. Finally, once her mind was quiet, he let himself fall back to sleep. And, intertwined in each other's limbs, they slept.


	52. Aetas est Abusus

**Author's Note** – Some parts of this chapter I like, some I don't. Eh, it'll all be fixed someday. This is the chapter before everything changes drastically. Oh, I just can't wait. The next few chapters are _really_ good with lots of interesting tidbits. There's a question/answer session at the end of the chapter that you all might be interested in.

**Another Note** – The chapter title loosely means, "Time is Up," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That was my genius idea.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Two**

"Aetas est Abusus"

* * *

As was expected, the Daily Prophet caught wind of Draco's true bonded, a follow-up article appearing in Tuesday's morning paper. The headline, cast across the front page, caused at least one enraged howl at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

**HERMIONE GRANGER: DRACO'S TRUE BONDED**

**The truth is revealed.**

By: Edna Heartman

_In a private ceremony, the time and place of which are still unknown, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger tied the knot, so to speak. The Muggle euphemism, a reference to their own marriage tradition, was not a far off call as to what actually when down between the alleged pair. A bonding, especially one of magic, is held in even higher esteems than marriage…_

Rita Skeeter, former reporter on Draco Malfoy, fell to the wayside in the face of recent false developments regarding Romilda Vane. The reporter replacing Skeeter, Edna Heartman, was nationally known for her refusal to print anything that was even a touch untrue. This, many would believe, was the first rational step the Daily Prophet had taken in years.

In addition, the article printed on the inside page, written by the same columnist as the first, had the same girl huffing and puffing in a display of enraged female fury.

**ROMILDA VANE: A HOTBED OF LIES**

**Teenaged girl caught up in romance scandal.**

By: Edna Heartman

_The lure of an Ignius is a strong entity, especially when he or she is searching for their bonded. Many girls, and often boys, go to extreme lengths to catch the eye of such Ignii. However, how far is too far? One such school girl has just found out… _

Crumpling the newspaper and chucking it to the floor, Romilda Vane made quite the display as she stomped out of the Great Hall, her posse of friends following her in a herd.

"This is an outrage!" she screamed to the entire Hogwarts population.

The DA Core, however, and most of the school, just snickered, their eyes tearing through the two articles that would be the gossip for at least the rest of the week.

_**Stuck up bitch**_, Draco muttered silently, a hand covering up the grin spreading across his face.

Hermione, for once, didn't correct his lewd language.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years had the privilege of yet another Potions lesson together. Although Professor Slughorn's teaching style boded well with most of the students, his prying nature often had the DA Core on the edge of screaming by the time his lessons were over. This particular lesson was no different.

"Ahh, the bonded pair, themselves," he chortled as Hermione and Draco wandered into the dungeon classroom, their fingers intertwined.

_**Not this again…**_

Hermione glanced at him momentarily. _**Just ignore it. You always do.**_

_**I'm sick of people poking their noses into my business.**_

_**Get used to it**_, she retorted.

Across the room, Nott chuckled, a leering comment slipping from his mouth. Draco merely displayed his middle finger in response.

_**Draco…**_

"What?" he answered audibly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Professor Slughorn approached their desk where they had just seated themselves, Harry, Ron, and Neville surrounding them as usual.

"Oh, what I would have given to have witnessed such an event," he mused, leaning against the desk in front of Hermione and Draco. "Tell me what was it like?" He leaned forward, enraptured. "Was there blood involved? Did he leave a mark, Miss Granger?" Slughorn craned his neck.

_**A mark? What does he think I am? A Veela?**_ Draco quipped indignantly within Hermione's head.

"Professor, that's kind of private," Hermione answered.

"Oh, you silly girl, everybody will eventually know," he said, waving her previous comment away. "Might as well get your stories straight right away. You know how these sorts of things get twisted. Have you ever thought about a book deal? The public is so curious about you two, and with all the rumors flying about, it's no wonder that everything has gotten mixed up."

Hermione smiled politely, though her private thoughts were none to polite. Draco snickered, listening in on them. "We would really prefer that it stay behind closed doors," she said.

Students continued to drift into the classroom, taking their seats, their eyes immediately gravitating to where the DA Core sat.

"Yes, yes, you do like your privacy," he said with a heavy sigh.

Draco nodded. "We do."

Harry, Ron, and Neville nodded in conjunction.

"Yes, well, if you ever change your mind, I do know of a fantastic publisher that would handle your story splendidly," he said.

_**Like I don't already have my life splayed open for everybody to gawk at**_**,** Draco said to Hermione.

"Anyways, I wanted to extend an early invitation to my annual Christmas party," he said. "It will be the extravaganza of the season." His eyes touched on each member of the DA Core currently present. "Of course, I'll be sending out official invitations before the end of the week…"

_**I think I'll be busy that day**_, Draco mused.

_**As will I.**_

Draco couldn't help his smart-arse smirk. _**We could be busy together…**_

_**You…you…you…**_

_**Me what, love?**_

_**Oh, when I find out, you'll know.**_

"…and you'll all be our guests of honor," Slughorn continued, his chest puffed out proudly.

Ron rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair, sharing a look with Harry.

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione interrupted.

Slughorn smiled. "Yes, my dear?"

"Class should have started already," she pointed out, gesturing to the clock on the wall.

"Oh, right, of course," he said, jumping up and striding to the front of the room.

Hermione sighed in displeasure as Slughorn scrambled around on his desk, looking for today's lesson, before spelling the potion instruction onto the blackboard.

_**We've wasted six minutes already**_, she grumbled.

Not commenting, Draco grinned to himself as he got up to gather the essential potion ingredients, Hermione muttering about the travesty of a wasted education in the background.

* * *

For nearly a week, Draco and Hermione kept their mental connection a secret between them, the rest of the DA Core having no idea of the personal commentary being exchanged. However, among the DA Core, what wasn't known was eventually shared, and such was also the same for their connection.

"And you never told us?" Ginny asked once the kneazle was out of the bag.

Hermione shrugged. "So much was going on that I guess it slipped our minds."

"It's kinda weird, don't you think?" Harry asked.

"Depends on what you consider weird," Neville answered.

Hermione laughed. "I don't think any of our lives are normal," she said. "At least, not any more."

Luna smiled. "Normality is only relative, and it wasn't too difficult to figure out what was between them." Her fingers quickly worked two knitting needles together, the blond girl having picked up a new hobby over the course of the past month.

_**Normality is only relative…only from Luna**_, Draco remarked.

_**How did she know, though?**_

_**How should I know?**_

_**I don't know. Maybe you had some genius idea rattling around in that head of yours.**_

Tilting her head to the side, Luna studied the beginnings of a scarf, the yarn a mix of earthy tones of brown. "What do you think?" she asked Neville.

"I like it."

"It'll be for you."

He grinned.

"Is it typical though?" Ginny asked, reverting back to the original topic.

Draco shrugged. "I have no idea. With no other Ignii around to tell me how things are supposed to be, I won't ever really know."

"How did you know what to do then?" Harry asked. "I would have had no clue."

"Instincts," he answered with a cursory shrug.

A twinge of sadness passed through their link. Draco glanced over at Hermione.

_**What is it?**_

_**I just realized that you had nobody to guide you, to tell you how things should be or what to expect.**_

_**Yeah, so? I got by just fine.**_

_**You shouldn't have to just get by.**_

He grabbed her hand. _**I have all of you.**_

_**But it's not the same. We couldn't tell you what to expect in being an Ignius.**_

_**Yeah, but it was enough.**_

Smiling ruefully, Hermione leaned against Draco, resting her head on his shoulder.

* * *

A great distance away, a man who was no longer quite human ruminated over the current situation. Seated in a great wing-backed chair, he peered into the flickering flames. They all underestimated him, the element of surprise, a surprise on many levels, a great player in his next scheme. And quite the scheme it would be, the taking of the light's leader only the beginning.

* * *

A week passed, two soon after that, the month of November descending into the chilliness of winter. On any given night, the DA Core could be found in their Hide Away, and on this particular night, a Thursday, that was exactly where they were, the Marauder's Map tacked to the wall before them.

"Look at this," Ginny pointed out, indicating the Slytherin common room.

The DA Core leaned in to get a better look.

"What's going on?" Neville asked.

"That's a lot of people."

"It's like a meeting," Luna said. "Like we're having now."

Crammed in the common room, what looked like nearly all of Slytherin and a good sizeable amount of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors were huddled around a central figure: Theodore Nott.

Ron squinted at the parchment. "…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen," he declared. "Seventeen non-Slytherins with two Gryffindors."

"What do you think it means?" Ginny asked.

"Well, with Nott involved, it can't be good," Draco said.

Hermione frowned, her eyes still surveying the individual people. "Ginny, what did you do with that list of missing students Kristen put together?"

"Um, it's over here somewhere," she said, shuffling through a stack of parchments and books on one of the tables. Finding it, she handed it to Hermione.

Hermione studied the parchment and then the map, her frown deepening even further.

_**What is it? **_Draco asked.

_**This is bad, really bad.**_

"Every student on this list is currently in the Slytherin common room," she said, double checking the list.

"What?" Ron said.

"Hey, look at this," Neville pointed out at the same exact time.

They looked at the map. Tucked into a tiny alcove halfway up the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories, Stephano and Kristen lurked.

"Owl them, right now," Harry directed. "Somebody…"

Ginny hurried off, grabbing a stray piece of parchment and a quill, scribbling out a quick message. After reading it through for the DA Core to hear, she dashed up to the owlry.

* * *

_What's going on in the Slytherin's common room?_

_-The DA Core_

* * *

Stephano and Kristen quietly listened in on the meeting taking place a dozen steps below when a snowy, white owl silently landed at Stephano's foot. Taking the rolled parchment from the owl's beak, he unrolled it and read the note, passing it to Kristen. Then, taking out a quill, she scratched a reply.

_Mini-Deatheater meeting. Voldemort is planning something._

_-S and K_

_P.S. How did you know?_

* * *

Five minutes later, the DA Core received their response and sent out another.

_What exactly is he planning?_

_-The DA Core_

_P.S. That is something we can't share until we're all in a secure location._

* * *

Kristen and Stephano reached up and grabbed the quickly delivered note from the DA Core, responding in fashion.

_You were right. He's going to attack the school within the next month._

_-S and K_

* * *

The DA Core swore sharply.

* * *

The next day, they called for an emergency DA meeting. Ernie was let in on the new information, the certainty of the attack, and the shift in plans.

"So, this is how you knew," Stephano said when they showed him, Kristen, and Ernie the Marauder's Map.

"Where'd you get it?" Ernie asked.

"It belonged to my dad," Harry answered. "It shows all of Hogwarts and its grounds up until halfway into the Forbidden Forest. We need to have somebody watching this at all times."

"It would be preferable to know beforehand when the attack is happening," Neville explained. "Granted, we have our enchanted galleons, but that only signifies when Hogwarts is threatened."

Ernie nodded. "They could be out in the forest waiting for days…but not a threat yet," he said. "It's a good plan."

They spoke of the meeting in Slytherin that took place the night before, Stephano and Kristen shedding some light on its content.

"Nott has definitely taken a leadership approach to things," Stephano said. "People listen to him."

_**That's a scary thought. The bloke couldn't lead a niffler to a sickle if he tried.**_ Draco glanced at Hermione.

_**Could this be to our advantage?**_

_**Perhaps, let me think on it.**_

"We both know that he's taken the Dark Mark…"

"I've seen it," Kristen added.

"Has everybody taken the Dark Mark who showed up last night?" Ron asked.

Kristen shook her head. "No, only a select few. However, they're as good as initiated. Voldemort's already been sending them on missions."

"He's using them as insurance," Hermione said, something dawning.

"Huh?" Ron asked.

"First, he needs to build up his ranks, hence using students," she started. "Second, having that many children running around with the Dark Mark would be unwise, there being a greater chance of them being discovered. However, if they don't have the mark, how can anybody accuse them of being deatheaters?"

"A secret army, so to speak," Stephano said.

"Not so secret anymore," Ron said wryly.

_**Sneaky bastard,**_ Draco muttered.

_**Language, dear…**_

_**I like my language just fine**_, he retorted. _**But I think I've got an idea.**_

_**Let's hear it.**_

"Oi, listen up," Draco said. "Nott may be their leader, but he's a right idiot too."

Ron snorted.

"But there's a way that this just might work…"

* * *

The last week in November Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Blaise Zabini, and the majority of the seventh year Slytherins disappeared all together from the school. One evening, at dinner, they were present; the next morning, at breakfast, their faces were nowhere to be found. The DA Core exchanged worried glances. However, the most interesting fact was that Theodore Nott remained behind.

"He has to lead the students who are loyal to Voldemort," Stephano had explained.

* * *

The next two weeks were painfully difficult for everybody to get through, no matter that the castle was adorned in Christmastime cheer. A large snowfall had blanketed the grounds, the Great Hall's ceiling following in fashion as show gently fell from the ceiling at all three meals and in between. Ornament-adorned trees stood in the Great Hall, evergreen boughs hanging in every doorway, and mistletoe floating about in search of unsuspecting students.

_**Oi, Hermione, come here a moment**_, Draco had called out one afternoon as they studied in the library.

_**Why?**_ She answered impatiently, combing through a stack of books on advanced charms. Placing, _Everyday Incantations, _by Henry Daily, back on the shelf, she reached up and grabbed, _Charms for Protection_, by Amy Elswhere. Flipping through it, she set it on top of, _A Spy's Spellbox_, by Udora Iza Scpie.

_**Please?**_

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. She had spent that entire afternoon searching for the types of spells they would need to make Draco's plan work, an assortment of books on everything from runes to charms stacked beside her on the floor.

Draco touched their connection gently. _**Pretty please?**_

She let out a breath of air as a sigh. _**Fine, where are you?**_

_**Potions section, halfway down the aisle.**_

Leaving her books where they were, she ventured out across the library.

"Alright, here I am," she proclaimed upon finding him. "Now, what do you want?"

He grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Come a little closer."

Obliging him, she took three steps forward until they were only a hand's width apart. She raised her eyebrows as if to say 'Now what?'

Draco glanced upwards, pointing at a sprig of mistletoe directly above them. "Aw, now will you look at that?"

She looked where he pointed and groaned. "Draco Malfoy, if this is what you…"

Hermione never got to finish her sentence, for before she could utter the next word, Draco had occupied her mouth for her.

_**You're very sneaky**_, she said as her knees began to go weak.

_**I like to think that I'm cunning.**_

_**Suit yourself.**_

* * *

Their days were filled to the point of overflowing, their time when not devoted to classes, homework, or quidditch, was spent ironing out as many details as possible. As December hardened its hold on the Earth, the DA Core grew nervous, the emotion unavoidable in the face of the impending attack. Harry paced the hallways at all hours, mumbling to himself, his hair a spectacular mussed up mess. The portraits, some of which had been irritated by his late-night wanderings, soon adapted to his nightly jaunts, snoozing as he stalked by them. Ginny often accompanied him, her nail biting habit turning into an obsession.

Neville could barely sleep, visions of war and battle passing through his mind. In lieu of sleep, he lurked down in the Gryffindor common room, brooding before the fireplace. Many a houseelf had found him at the wee hours of the morning, his brown eyes narrowed into the smoldering coals. Luna turned quiet, and though the girl was already on the shy-side, she lost her eccentric edge, not even sharing her world of strange creatures with the DA Core anymore. She had other, more pressing matters to worry about.

Ron grew irritable, picking fights with everybody around him. It had been his unlucky fortune to disagree with Professor Snape one Friday morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, something odd had happened in return.

"I am _not_ a bumbling idiot," Ron had roared, hands braced on his desk.

"Mr. Weasley, sit down," Professor Snape had said.

Ron sneered, his refusal to obey, a challenge.

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you know what is good for you, Mr. Weasley, you'll _sit back down_."

Hermione, who'd been sitting next to him, reached up and yanked him back down into his seat. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

"You're an idiot, Weasley," Draco whispered from the row behind.

Ron shot a curse back at Draco as Professor Snape continued on with his lesson about shield spells, ignoring the brief conversation the DA Core had in the back of his classroom.

Afterwards, the DA Core revisited what had happened, amazed and astonished that Snape had not only refrained from taking points, but had not given Ron a detention. In fact, once they had talked it through, they had noticed another strange fact.

"I could have sworn it," Hermione had said. "I've never seen him look at any of us in that manner."

"I noticed too," Harry said. "He looked almost sad."

"More like regretful," Hermione said, reaching for Draco's hand.

Draco took her hand. "Well, I'm sure he knows what's going to happen, him being a spy and all."

The DA Core left it as an unexplained oddity, filing it away in their minds. Hermione, quite possibly the one with the hardest resolve, only allowed her fear to be seen by Draco. By day she focused on her studies and research, keeping a straight head and a clear mind. However, the nighttime could not be avoided.

Hogwarts had been a home to her for the past six years, the best memories she'd ever had having been made within the castle's walls. The school was more than just stone and mortar, it had a life of its own, a heartbeat that throbbed. She thought of her friends, of the DA Core, of Draco. Nothing was certain in battle, just like their lives. The first time the thought hit her, she'd frozen in panic. It had been the middle of the night, dreams and such waking her.

Heart thudding, she tried to take deep breaths. Their faces passed before her; Draco, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Neville, and Luna. What if, just what if one of them didn't survive this? Certainly the attack on Hogwarts would not be the end of everything. Or would it? Was this it? Would Harry have to finally face Voldemort?

Beside her, Draco stirred, rolling over.

"Draco?" she whispered, glancing over, seeing only darkness.

Her mind prodded his a touch harder than she had meant to.

He groaned. _**What?**_ His tone came out surly. _**It's the middle of the night, Hermione.**_

She withdrew quickly and quietly.

Draco sighed. "Really, what is it?" he said out loud.

"I keep thinking."

"Then don't."

Angered, and slightly hurt, she turned away from him, physically and mentally.

_**Hey**_, he said, poking their connection. _**Don't do that.**_

Hermione pressed her lips together, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

_**Hermione?**_ Draco rolled over. "What's wrong?"

_**I keep thinking about this attack that's supposed to happen. What if we lose someone? What if you die? Or I die? Or Harry? Or Ron, or…**_

_**Stop**_, he said, reaching out and finding her face in the dark. Scooting closer, he wrapped his arms around her. _**Like I said, don't think about that.**_

_**But I can't help it! It just keeps coming.**_

_**Think about other things. Think about Christmas. How about telling me what you got me?**_ His tone translated in a cheeky manner.

Hermione was silent for a moment before replying. _**What makes you think I got you anything?**_ She responded dryly.

_**Because you love me, and I've been hinting at that set of silver plated quills since the last Hogsmeade visit.**_

_**I don't know what you're going on about.**_

Deftly, he poked her, but Hermione rolled out of the way before he could get a good poke in.

"Hey!" he called out indignantly.

"Uh uh, not this time," she said triumphantly.

"What? Am I going to have to catch you first?" he asked half-serious.

Hermione grinned in the dark. "Yes," she answered before leaping out of the bed.

A chase ensued, Hermione leading Draco in circles around the bedroom and out into the main Hide Away room and the adjoining Great Room. Once they finally made it back into the bedroom, Hermione paused to catch her breath. Draco quietly stalked her.

"What? We're done," she declared, turning to get back into bed.

He chuckled. _**That's what you think**_, he thought right before he tackled her to the ground, poking her to his heart's content in the sides of her ribs.

Squealing, Hermione roared with laughter. _**Alright, alright, uncle! Uncle!**_

"Uncle?!" Draco sat up on his haunches.

"Yeah," she said. "That's what you say when you've surrendered."

Draco merely laughed before kissing her soundly, Hermione having forgotten her previous worries.

* * *

December twentieth, two days before the Christmas holidays were scheduled to commence, was set as the date for Slughorn's Christmas party. The entire DA Core, having received a formal invitation earlier in the month, debated heatedly about whether they should attend or not.

"I'm not spending an entire night being oogled over by that man," Harry had declared rather loudly.

Draco agreed wholeheartedly, adding in his own personal comments.

Hermione pursed her lips and tapped her foot. "We don't have to stay the entire night, Merlin knows I don't want to," she said. "However, we've missed every other party and club meeting that man has thrown…"

"It'll get him off our back," Ginny said.

"They have a point," Neville said.

"Plus, I hear he has a taste for crystallized pineapple," Luna said. "I rather enjoy pineapple."

Harry sighed unhappily, crossing his arms over his chest. Within his head, he deliberated.

"It might get our minds off of our current…situation," Ginny offered to Harry, her eyes pleading.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," Draco was the first to say.

Groaning, Harry dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling of the Hide Away. "Ugh, fine, I'll go, but I'm not wearing dress robes."

At this, Ron spoke up. "Oh, neither am I then."

And, thus, it was decided, the DA Core would be attending Slughorn's Christmas extravaganza. However, in their decision, they forgot one important detail, a detail Ginny pointed out just before they left the Hide Away room for the party.

"Who's going to watch the map then?" she asked, gesturing to the Marauder's Map on the wall.

The DA Core paused for a moment.

"Get Stephano or Kristen to watch it," Ron suggested.

"They did the last few shifts," Ginny said. "One of us is going to have to stay behind."

"I'll do it," Neville spoke up.

Eyes turned towards the brown haired boy.

He shrugged. "I haven't watched it for a few days."

Apparently satisfied, the DA Core wished Neville an exciting night of map-watching and trekked out of the Hide Away.

* * *

The night had taken hold on the castle, the fire growing low in the fireplace. Neville lounged in one of the cushioned chairs, his feet kicked up on one of the tables as he lazily watched the map. Students milled about leisurely within their dorms, a few wandering the hallways in pairs. A large number of students were crowded into Slughorn's office, groups of tiny dots crowded around each other. He spotted his friends, Slughorn being near them for a long time. Neville grimaced, feeling sorry for the exclusive attention they were currently getting. After ten or fifteen minutes, the DA Core gradually made their way to the door and entered the hallway. Neville tracked them as they wound through the dungeon corridors and entered the Entrance Hall, heading for the stairs. And as they did so, Neville noticed something odd.

That's strange, he thought, sitting up.

A large group of students, the same ones as before, he realized, were congregated in the Slytherin common room. He frowned, standing up to properly study the map. Then, as if by some unseen force, his eyes were drawn outside the castle's walls and towards the Forbidden Forest. Legions of individuals were filtering into the forest, slowly making their approach on Hogwarts. And this was when his heart stopped. The air stuck in the back of his throat as Neville took three hurried steps backwards, knocking over his chair. Taking one last glance at the map, mentally noting that the DA Core was just about to climb the stairs, he raced out of the Hide Away, praying there would be time.

* * *

**Question/Answer Section:**

Is Fire Dragon almost finished? No, not yet. I would guess there's 10-20 chapters left.

Will anybody die? Yes.

Who? That's for only me to know right now.

Exactly how big is Fire Dragon? Very big. My records say it's currently 208,648 words and 845 pages long.

Draco found his bonded very quickly. Why? Well, two reasons. First, it was Hermione and he tends to be around her all the time. If it was a random witch or wizard outside of Hogwarts, it would have taken much longer. Second, I should have dragged it out a little longer, elaborated on certain things. That's all to go on my metal list of things to be revised when I go back and edit Fire Dragon.

Why is sixth year going by very fast? Again, two reasons. First, not much happens during the first half of the year. Second, I'll admit, I should have planned a bit better, but this is really just a first draft of Fire Dragon. Eventually, like I said above, I'll go back and edit and this will be another thing on my list to fix. Right now my only focus is to finish Fire Dragon.

Why are you so intent on finishing Fire Dragon? Because I've been working on it for two and a half years. It's time that it be finished. Plus, once I finish Fire Dragon, then I can work on my original works of fiction.

When do you expect Fire Dragon to be finished? Hopefully by the end of the summer.

You keep saying that you're going to edit Fire Dragon. When? Probably a few years. I have a lot of other projects in line waiting to be worked on. I need to get to those first.


	53. Quod Iam Nos Pugna

**Author's Note** – I know, this chapter is a little bit late, the reason being that it's 33 pages long. I think you'll like this one. Things get REALLY interesting and REALLY good here on out. Canon plot no longer applies here. Let me know what you think. Oh, and I would highly recommend listening to 24 by Jem while reading this. That was one of the main songs on my playlist as I wrote this chapter.

**Another Note** – The chapter title means, "And Now We Fight," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Three**

"Quod Iam Nos Pugna"

* * *

"They're here…right now…Forbidden Forest," Neville gasped, bending over double as he tried to catch his breath.

"Who?" Hermione spoke up.

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, stepping forward, his features grim. "It's Deatheaters, isn't it?"

He nodded, eyes widened in panic. "It's happening, right now. They're in the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherin Common Room is packed with students. I don't know how much longer they'll stay there. Nott's right there with them."

A beat of silence, the DA Core digesting the current situation…

"Alright, this is what we're going to do," Harry then said, stepping up three stairs where he could see the entire DA Core. "Neville and Luna, go to your houses and get the younger years out of here…remember, the humpbacked witch on the third floor. Ginny, go alert Ernie if he doesn't already know. Go! Run!" He shouted.

"_Wait!_" Draco called out.

Everybody turned to Draco, Harry rounding on him. "We don't have time, Malfoy," he tensed.

Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew a vial of golden liquid. "I've been holding on to this all term," he said, holding it up.

"Felix Felicis," Luna said. "We'll need the luck."

Harry seemed to deliberate for a split second. "Alright," he then bit out. "Everybody takes a sip. But make it quick."

The vial was passed around, Draco taking the last mouthful.

Harry gestured to Neville, Luna, and Ginny. "Alright, you three, go. Now!"

They sprinted off.

Harry took a deep breath. "The rest of us, we need to get to the dungeons. Hermione, you know the spell, right?" He glanced to his left.

Hermione nodded.

* * *

Ernie Macmillian stared out the window, across the Hogwarts grounds, and squinted as something flashed at the front gate of the school. His fingers gripped the window frame as he leaned forward, another flash of light sparking against the gate. Ernie gasped, stumbling back and falling to the floor as the galleon in his pocket grew hot.

"Feeling a bit clumsy, Ernie?" Hannah Abbott laughed.

Gripping the table edge, Ernie pulled himself up. "We need to get the lower years out of the castle," was the first thing he said.

Hannah frowned. "What are you going on about?"

"There are Deatheaters at the front gate," he answered.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had just charmed a pot of tea to boil, the latest issue of _Knitting Patterns_ waiting patiently beside his favorite chair, when the alarm he most wished to never hear rang loud and clear throughout his quarters. Dropping everything, he rushed over to the fireplace.

Throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire, he stuck his head into the green flames. "Minerva McGonagall's office," he said.

McGonagall answered his call promptly.

"Alert the staff and the Order. Hogwarts is under attack," he solemnly said.

Closing the connection, he then gathered up his robes, he exited his rooms. Time was officially up.

* * *

An eerie silence had descended upon the castle as Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Ron passed through the Entrance Hall on their way to the dungeons. It was as if Hogwarts, itself, knew what was happening and was quietly preparing for battle. Knowing the castle, and the magic that ran through its stonework, their speculations weren't far from the truth.

They descended into the dungeons as quietly as possible, their senses on high alert. Rounding a corner, they all jumped as a door squeaked open.

"Psst."

Stephano waved them over, opening the door further to let them in. Breathing huge sighs of relief, the DA Core ducked into the empty classroom. Kristen stood not too far from the door, a handful of Slytherin students grouped beside her. Hermione quickly surveyed the group, counting eleven students, the majority first or second years.

"They were gathering for another meeting and I had a bad feeling about it," he whispered to Harry.

Hermione approached Kristen, checking to make sure that she knew where the humpbacked witch was. It was quickly concluded that time was not in their favor and that their next actions must be in quick haste. Kristen would take the group of students up to the third floor, directing them to take the passageway that would lead them to the basement of Honeydukes. Stephano and the rest of the DA Core, meanwhile, would continue on to the Slytherin common room.

In and out, they were, in a mere three minutes. The clock was ticking.

The entrance to the Slytherin common room was thankfully not too far from the classroom.

"You remember the runes, right?" Hermione asked of Draco.

He nodded as they turned a corner. "We went over them a dozen times. I won't forget," he said, glancing at her and grabbing for her hand.

Gratefully, she took it.

Another turn was taken and a short corridor walked down, their footsteps clicking on the stone. As they reached the end of the hallway, they slowed. They met each other's eyes and peeked around the corner, the next hallway containing the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"Oh thank God," Hermione breathed, seeing an empty corridor.

"And considering we didn't run into anybody on our way here, I'd guess that they're still in there," Stephano said.

Hermione drew her wand, Draco dropping to his knees, his wand already tracing unseen patterns in the stones making up the entranceway to the Slytherin common room. She watched as the markings his wand made began to glow, individual runes crossing the doorway at a diagonal from one bottom corner to the opposite top one. Taking a deep breath, Hermione cast her spell.

It was once believed that when in need, the students within Hogwarts could call upon the castle's own magic to aid them. Of course, it had to be a true and desperate need that would awaken this ancient type of magic. Luckily, for the DA Core, what they asked for was above and beyond basic need. The castle obliged their request, the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room glowing once and then twice before dimming to a dull blue.

"There," Hermione said once finished, glancing at Draco. "They shouldn't be able to get out now."

"Or anybody in," Harry added. He looked at Draco. "Test it."

"I don't know the password any longer," he said, glancing at Stephano.

Stephano stepped forward. "_Pureblood_," he spoke.

The blue light glowed momentarily before returning to its previously dulled color. The DA Core smiled.

"Alright, now we have a battle to fight," Harry said.

* * *

Across Hogwarts' lawns, the front gate began to crack beneath the Deatheater's spells.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall hurried through the castle's corridors, her hands holding up her robes as the heels of her shoes clicked on the stone floor. The staff had always had a plan of escape to get the students out of the castle if such an occurrence as Lord Voldemort attacking the school should ever occur. However, the fact that she now had to follow that plan made her quite nauseous.

Rounding a corner on the third floor, she became aware of a quiet commotion in the next hallway. Her heart sped up, her mind painting visions of Deatheaters already infiltrating the school. The secret tunnel to Hogsmeade was in that hallway, she remembered. Drawing her wand, she quietly edged closer to the corner. Peeking around the wall, she sighed in relief, seeing not Deatheaters but students. However, upon seeing the students, her professorial duties reared up in her, and steeling a stern look on her face, she stepped into the corridor.

"What is going on here?" she asked crossly.

The students looked up, alarmed.

From within the mass of bodies, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood emerged.

McGonagall glanced between the two of them, knowing they were part of the DA Core. "I would like an explanation, and make it quick," she said. "There are Deatheaters…"

"…at the front gates," Neville said. "We know, Professor."

"We've been watching," Luna added.

Neville shifted on his feet nervously. "I don't want to sound rude, but we need to get them out of the castle," he said, gesturing to the few dozen Gryffindors and Ravenclaws watching from behind them.

McGonagall paused for a fraction of a second, stunned and amazed. "What about the others?"

"They're coming," he said. "We have this under control. Please trust us."

"You're needed downstairs, Professor," Luna said.

"We'll get them out," Neville said. "Don't worry."

"You've been planning for this," she said, looking directly at Neville.

He nodded.

She drew up all her resolve and nodded tersely. "Alright, then," she said. "Be careful. For Merlin's sake, be careful."

McGonagall disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Kristen, with the dozen Slytherins, and Ernie, Ginny with him, met Neville and Luna at the humpbacked witch, dozens of students following them.

"Listen up, you lot," Ginny hollered to the mass of students staring wide-eyed at them. Many of them were first and second years, several crying in fear. "There is a tunnel behind this statue that will take you to the cellar of Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. You'll walk quickly and quietly where you'll be safe. Do you all understand?"

Her question was met with dozens of nodding heads. Nodding, she turned and tapped her wand three times against the statue.

"_Dissendium_," she said.

For a moment, it didn't move. Then, coming to life, the statue stepped out of the way, a dark and long passage revealed. They ushered the students through the opening in a single file, the tunnel only accommodating students one by one. The amount of students seemed to never dwindle, Ginny growing impatient. She glanced at the others.

"There'll be time," Luna assured.

Neville swallowed hard.

"What do we do next?" Ernie said.

"We head downstairs," Ginny said, her words echoing the impending fight.

"They're at the front gates," Ernie said. "I saw them out the window before my galleon heated up."

"Nott was supposed to let them in." Kristen glanced at Ernie.

"Hermione's spell has hopefully bought us some extra time," Ginny muttered.

"I don't hear anything yet," Neville said, straining his senses.

"This is a good sign," she responded.

"Yes, a very good sign," Luna echoed.

Finally, the last student disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. Moving the humpbacked witch back to her previous position, the five headed towards the stairwell.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore entered the Entrance Hall flanked by the Hogwarts staff.

"Stand ready," he directed, facing the massive doors.

McGonagall stood to one side of him, her wand drawn. Severus Snape stood on the other. He met the headmaster's eyes and nodded once.

* * *

The Great Hall's fireplace flared to life, glowing green. A figure tumbled out of it, followed by another and then another. Kingsley Shaklebolt straightened his robes, Tonks and Remus Lupin following him. From the flames, three more Order members emerged from the fireplace, an entire stream of them soon after. Once all accounted for, they joined the Hogwarts staff in the Entrance Hall.

* * *

A dozen fractures spiderwebbed through the front gates, and the massive iron structure groaned. One hooded figure stepped forward and drew his wand, blond hair blowing from beneath his hood.

"_Reducto_," he cast.

And that was it, the gate falling, and the Deatheaters rushing forward.

* * *

Dumbledore tensed. "Get ready," he instructed.

* * *

In the hallways leading off of the Entrance Hall, students waited under Harry, Ron, and Draco's direction. The black-haired boy peeked around the corner of the staircase leading up from the first floor. Across the way, a hand flashed a signal from the entrance to the dungeons. He nodded ever so slightly, the hand holding up two fingers before disappearing.

Hermione and the others were ready.

His eyes glanced upwards where he knew Neville and Ginny waited with another batch of students awaiting the beginning of a battle. Breathing deep, he closed his eyes momentarily, a silent prayer going out to anybody who would listen.

"Do you hear that?" Draco whispered from beside him.

Harry opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side.

Outside, an explosion sounded, muffled but close enough.

"Bloody hell, they're here," Ron whispered.

* * *

Hermione spun around to face the group of students piled behind her. "Get ready," she hissed as another spell hit the front doors. Something rattled and cracked.

Luna tightened her hold on her wand. This was it.

* * *

Upstairs, Ginny and Neville glanced at each other.

"Everyone ready?" Ginny called out.

"This is the last chance to back out," Neville said afterwards.

Nobody moved.

* * *

A crack had formed in the wooden beams that constructed the front doors to the castle. Albus Dumbledore watched as the split formed, spreading until, finally, the door gave away. The great and heavy doors fell to the side, crashing to the ground with a deafening echo. Deatheaters rushed through the blasted doors, wands already drawn with curses falling from their lips. Dumbledore, the staff, and the Order of the Phoenix met the Deatheaters head on.

* * *

Harry held up his wand and opened his mouth. "And now, we fight!"

Students charged into the melee, coming from three separate directions, the Deatheaters' wandfire having no discrimination between targets.

McGonagall dueled, curses and hexes flying from her wand just as fast as her opponent. Hearing a warcry, she quickly glanced to her side, horrified to discover students, _students_, fighting alongside them. A spell screamed past her ear, and the Transfiguration professor redirected her attention to the Deatheater at the other end of her wand. There was nothing she could do about them at the moment.

Moments into the fight, it became obvious that the Deatheaters outnumbered The Light. They pushed and fought their way into the Entrance Hall, filtering deeper and deeper, as if their motive wasn't to battle The Light, but to take the castle, to take Hogwarts. However, what they didn't figure on was the deep devotion The Light had for Hogwarts. The Light was fierce, the struggle to hold their own a strong one. Wandfire escalated, time passing, the Hogwarts staff, the Order, the students, and the DA Core fighting their battles.

* * *

Across the Entrance Hall, Draco took on two Deatheaters at once. Wings outstretched, he cast his hands out into the air.

"Oh, what's little Malfoy going to do with no wand?" one taunted.

The other laughed.

Draco grinned, twin fireballs shooting from his palms. The Deatheaters screamed.

Harry, who had just stupefied somebody, the body falling limply to the ground, glanced at Draco. "Good going, mate," he called out.

Flashing him a smile, Draco's expression soon fell, and he pointed. "Behind you, Potter!"

Harry whirled around, wand out.

"_Crucio_."

Ducking, Harry acted quickly, diving forward and tacking the tall figure to the ground. The man impacted the ground with a sickening thud.

In the Great Hall, Hermione, Ginny, and Ernie fought back to back. Deatheaters swarmed around them like Dementors to a free soul.

_**Great Hall, love. We need help.**_

Draco, who had been ready to repeat his fireball display, shoved the flames forward towards his target and took off running across the stone floor, ducking and dodging. Pushing his way into the Great Hall, he took flight.

"_Expelliarmus_…_Stupify…_" Hermione cried out, taking a step back as the Deatheater advanced on her. Her back hit Ginny's.

The Deatheater sneered, pointing his wand, and then was suddenly gone, pure air where he had stood.

_**Look up.**_

Hermione looked up. Draco flew through the air, a screaming and thrashing Deatheater in his arms.

_**Shall I drop him?**_

_**Hmm, no, I think he should hang out for a while.**_

_**Hang out?**_ Draco was confused for a moment, and then looked up at the rafters of the Great Hall. He laughed. _**Hang out!**_

Swooping upwards, he grabbed onto one of the wooden beams and hauled himself and his captive onto the beam. Straddling the beam, he ripped the mask off, the shocked face of Gregory Goyle staring at him.

"Gregory, Gregory, Gregory," he chided, taking Goyle's wand from his limp hand. "Such bad luck you have." Draco snapped his wand and slipped it back into the other boy's hand. "Well, gotta go!" Falling sideways, Draco snapped his wings open, catching an air current.

Hermione tore her eyes away just in time to get out of the way of a cutting hex. A searing pain in her right arm told her that she wasn't quick enough. Craning to see the side of her arm, she surveyed the shallow cut to be non-important and continued onward. However, she didn't get two curses further before a tall, dark shadow stepped in front of her.

Draco zeroed in on her. _**Hermione, run! Get out of there.**_

Lucius Malfoy chuckled low in his throat. "If it isn't my son's little mate," he said, glancing upwards, his wand pointed at Draco who circled around the ceiling. "You know…" He glanced at Hermione. "…I've told him many times, but betrayal has its consequences. The boy just does not learn."

"Don't you touch her, you dirty bastard," Draco hollered, diving down towards Lucius.

Lucius glanced up, aiming his wand at Draco. A stream of orange light hit Draco in the shoulder. Throwing him out of control, he barreled through the air and hit the wall, a sickening crack sounding before he fell to the ground.

Hermione screamed and raced forward, hitting Lucius in the abdomen. Grabbing her shoulders, he threw her back. She landed a meter away from Draco.

_**Draco? Oh God, please say you're alright**_, she pleaded within her head, the blond-haired boy not moving. Her stomach twisted sickeningly.

"Tsk, tsk, such a muggle way to fight, Granger," he taunted, wiping his hands on his robes. "Didn't anybody teach you the proper way to duel?"

Hermione groped for her wand, found it, and aimed it upwards. Lucius, however, was faster, a quick succession of hexes firing from his wand. Rolling out of the way, Hermione got to her feet. "_Augmenti_," she shouted, a stream of water hitting Lucius' face. She held her wand steady, the water continuing to pour from her wand.

Lucius sputtered and blindly hit Hermione with a hex. Her entire left arm went numb and tingly. Hair dripping, he snarled, snapping his wand forward, a red light coming forth and hitting Hermione in the side. She screamed, ribs shattering, and dropped to the ground.

"So easy," Lucius muttered, standing over her.

_**Draco! Wake up…WAKE UP!**_ She glanced to the left and reached out for him.

Lucius stomped his foot, but Hermione withdrew her hand before he could break anything. "I've often thought about what I would do if I ever got my hands on you," he said, circling around Hermione.

She pressed a hand to her ribs and snarled.

"I'm his father," he said. "I have every right to say in what happens in his life."

"You're not his father," Hermione said. "A father wouldn't hurt his son or kill his wife."

Lucius made a noise in the back of his throat. "Mmm, yes, sometimes sacrifices have to be made," he said.

Hermione shook her head. "You're wrong, you're very wrong," she said. "You know nothing about life."

"I know _everything_ about life," he roared. "Life is power. Do you know how much power is in a wand, Miss Granger?" he asked delicately, studying his own.

"Only as much as is within the caster."

"Ah ah, not true," he said. "And they call you the smartest witch in your year…yes, don't look surprised. I know all about you. What kind of a father would I be if I didn't know the girl who stole my son's heart?"

Hermione snarled. "At least he has a heart," she said. "You have no heart."

"Emotion is weakness, and Draco was always weak," he said, glancing at his son still slumped against the wall. "Even as an infant he was too caught up in what he was feeling. Quite the crier he was, always wanting to be held," he said disdainfully, as if such things were distasteful.

_**Draco? DRACO! Please wake up**_, she pleaded, brushing against him in her mind. _**Please? I need you, oh Merlin do I need you right now.**_

Hermione flicked a glance at her mate.

Lucius followed her glance. "Yes, I suspect he'll live," he said casually. "However, after hearing your demise, I doubt he'll want to any longer." He smiled, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Well, enough chitchat, Miss Granger. Shall we get on with it then?"

She touched his mind, the murkiness of unconsciousness touching back, and looked up at Lucius. "You can't win," she said. "You lost him long ago."

"I doubt that. There are certain…means in which I can gain what I want," he said and then drew his wand with a snarl, casting a quick cutting jinx.

Almost caught off guard, Hermione jerked to the side, the motion jarring her ribs. Wincing, she tightened her hold on her wand and retaliated. "_Expelliarmus_."

"_Expulso_." The curse hit the Slytherin table, it exploding. Wooden fragments flew throughout the Great Hall. Hermione dropped to the ground as a piece slammed into the wall behind her. Splinters rained down upon her.

Crouched close to the floor, she aimed upwards. "_Stupefy_."

"_Incendio_."

The table fragment caught fire. Hermione quickly aimed and cast a water spell, extinguishing the flames, before turning back to Lucius. The next spell was already upon his lips, the end of his wand pointed right at her. She dove.

"_Reducto._"

The spell missed Hermione, hitting the stone wall, blasting a great hole, stones falling to the ground in a heap. Dashing out of the way, Hermione narrowly missed being smashed. Panting, chest heaving, she watched as Lucius advanced on her, hexes and curses spilling from his wand one after the other. Ducking low, she felt as currents of air passed by her head, spells barely missing her. Then one hit her, knocking her to the ground. Scrambling, she got back on her feet, almost expecting to be hit with another curse. However, when none came, she looked up. Draco stood on the other side of a fallen Lucius and the pile of crumbled stonework, his wand drawn, a strained expression on his face. His left wing hung at an odd angle, smears of blood streaked across his face. It was a face Hermione couldn't have been happier to see.

"Is he dead?" she asked of the unmoving body of Draco's father.

"No," he said before stepping over Lucius' body and grabbing a hold of Hermione. Like lovers parted, they clung to each other. Draco pulled away and, just as quick, they were thrown back into the chaos, wands drawn.

* * *

Back in the Entrance Hall, Ron and Harry dueled Deatheater after Deatheater, Neville right alongside them. The once timid, brown-haired boy, now stood proudly as a member of the DA Core, fighting for the school he called his home.

"Oh, well if it isn't wee little Neville," a cackling voice taunted jovially.

Neville turned around.

"How are your parents these days?" Bellatrix Lestrange asked, a cockeyed grin twisting her face. "Oh, right, I forgot…"

Snarling, Neville lunged for her, wand aimed at her heart.

Bella danced backwards. "No, no, no, little Neville," she scolded, wagging her finger and laughing. "There will be no hexing."

"What about cursing?" he asked, his eyes shadowed and his shoulders tense as his wand shot out a tickling hex.

Dodging, she giggled. However, Neville anticipated her move and followed the first tickling hex with another. This one hit her, and she dissolved into laughter. The sight was slightly disturbing, Neville thought, watching as Bellatrix threw her head back, consumed in a heap of deep, belly laughs and snorts. From behind her, a whipping rope came whirling out, surrounding her tightly.

"Good on, Longbottom," Tonks cheerfully said, stunning Bella. Her hair was a shock of pinks and purples. "Just like your parents were."

Neville smiled shyly. "Thanks, Tonks," he said.

"Oi, behind you," Tonks called out.

Whirling around, Neville was just in time to dodge an acidic yellow hex. Instead, it hit one of the suits of armor, the metal sizzling and bubbling. "_Confundo_," he cast.

Hitting the Deatheater, the spell knocked him back two steps. Blinking, the Deatheater's mouth hung open and his brow furrowed. "Mum? Where am I?" he asked.

"_Incarcerous_." Ropes shot out of Neville's wand, wrapping around the Confunded Deatheater as he began to walk aimlessly around in circles. "Oi, Tonks, here's another," he said to the pink-haired Auror.

* * *

Further into the castle, the Deatheaters infiltrated, moving the battle deeper into the dungeons and up the stairs to the second and third floors. It seemed as if hours passed as the battle waged onward. The DA Core at some point got separated. Harry and Ron battled down in the Great Hall, the seemingly never-ending legion of Deatheaters bordering upon overwhelming. Their curses and hexes were matched head on, the scales tipping further and further in favor of the dark.

"Where are they coming from?" Harry gasped, watching as more hooded and robed figures poured in.

"I don't know, mate," Ron answered, ducking behind the overturned Ravenclaw table. Sweat slicked his hands, making it hard to get a good grip on his wand. His body trembled with exhaustion. "Harry, I don't know how much longer I can go on." Ron turned to look at Harry.

"You have to, Ron," he said sternly. "There is no other choice."

"I know," he muttered. "I was just saying."

An explosion sounded from the other end of the Great Hall, or rather what was left of the Great Hall. Debris covered the floor, stone and wood alike. The house tables were in various states of disrepair. Large craters marred the walls and the floor, bodies lying motionless among the destruction. Blasts and flashes of lights came again from the other end of the room. Harry peeked out from the side of Ravenclaw's table.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and a dozen Aurors and Order members continued to battle, taking hits and injuries in stride as their wands darted and wove, curses and hexes raining through the air. The great stained glass window that sat behind the head table absorbed a red spell before shattering, glass and ironwork flying out into the room. Figures ducked momentarily, the battle resuming again.

Harry and Ron traded looks as the green-eyed boy poked his nose out from behind the table. A hex came flying their way, another and then another afterwards.

"_Protego_," Harry cast, watching as a Deatheater narrowed in on their hiding spot.

A bone crunching hex narrowly missed their heads, smashing a bench a few meters behind them.

The battle up on the teacher's dais faded from their minds, their concentration centered on saving their own rear ends. Ten meters away, the Deatheater was, Harry and Ron backing away, keeping the Ravenclaw table between them.

Ron stepped backwards, firing off a freezing hex followed with a mild stinging curse, watching as a jet of black light that would have curdled his blood sailed upwards, Harry's curse deflecting the spell. He stumbled backwards as his foot hit something solid, his balance being thrown off-center. Ron hit the ground, his legs caught up in debris on the ground. Harry glanced downwards, one hand reaching down to haul his friend upwards while the other struggled to keep the Deatheater at bay. However, Ron barely registered Harry's actions as his eyes met another pair of eyes, the pupils transfixed upwards in a dead stare. Ron's stomach dropped. He'd never seen a dead person before, nor one that he happened to know.

"Lav," he whispered, reaching down to touch his dead girlfriend's face.

Harry wrenched Ron upwards. "Get a hold of yourself, mate," he screamed, as he shot a stunner at the Deatheater. It grazed his shoulder, the Deatheater wavering on his feet before falling to the ground. "Come on, we have to get out of here," he said.

Ron's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"She's dead," he said in a matter-a-face manner. "And in a moment, so will we."

An errant spell from the main battle hit part of the ceiling, stone and wooden beams crashing to the ground.

Ron covered his mouth. "Right, right," he said hollowly. "Dead."

Harry stared at Ron for a moment.

On the ground, the Deatheater, not completely stunned, the spell only touching his shoulder, stirred. Groping around for his wand, he rose upwards, getting to his feet, his wand aimed at the two students a few meters away.

"_Expulso_!"

Harry whipped around. "_Stupefy._"

The two curses met mid air, exploding, energy blasting out in all directions. One such wave of energy threw the Deatheater backwards, the body landing sprawled across a pile of tumbled wall.

Harry and Ron stared at the body for a split second before turning to each other.

"Come on, we need to go, Ron," Harry said levelly. "We can barely hold our own anymore."

Harry's words weren't far from the truth. However, fate, apparently, would have other plans as, with a thundering crash, the doors to the Great Hall opened.

* * *

Deeper into the castle, the battle waged with an intensity that loomed upon overwhelming. Students fell where they were hit, those who remained standing continuing to fight. Ginny and Luna trudged over a fourth year Hufflepuff, her eyes open in death, the wandfire exploding around them in a glorious rain of death. They ducked and ran. Ginny glanced at Luna, the blond-haired girl furious in her movements. Sensing eyes upon her, Luna turned her head. Their looks both said the same thing; they needed to get out of there.

Rounding a corner, leaping over a blasted classroom door, they both collided with a solid figure. Ginny stumbled backwards as Luna fell to the ground, smashing her face against the stones. The impact stunned her, blood leaking out through her nose.

The tall figure chucked and drew his wand. Amycus Carrow leered down at Ginny as he aimed his wand at Luna.

"Well, well, what a treat I have here," he crooned. "Red hair…hmm, I would have to guess that you are a Weasley. Blood traitors, they are…your whole family."

He took a step forward, Luna flinching out of the way.

Carrow glanced downwards. "And, who are you?" He knelt down on the ground, his wand picking up a strand of her hair.

Luna barred her teeth, the effect, paired with the blood flowing down her face, made for quite the wild image.

The Deatheater chuckled. "Not civilized of course," he said, standing up.

He turned to Ginny. "Would you like to see a trick, muggle lover?" he asked cruelly, eyes glittering with whatever his mind was currently concocting.

Ginny paled.

Flicking his wand, Luna suddenly launched into the air, whipping back and forth. Her screams echoed down the corridor. "Isn't this fun?"

Ginny certainly didn't share the same opinion. Red hair flying, she launched herself at Carrow, tackling him to the ground. His attention diverted, Luna dropped to the ground with a thud. Ginny's hands and feet flung out in every which direction, making as much contact as she could, preferably if it were to a specifically sensitive area. Carrow, none too pleased, growled and grabbed Ginny, throwing her to the side. Rolling three paces away, Ginny reached out as her wand clattered across the stones away from her.

Carrow laughed, stepping on Ginny's hand. "I think this is mine now," he said.

Yelping, she wrenched her hand out from beneath his boot.

The Deatheater held up her wand and grinned down at her. Holding it up, he snapped it. "Oops," he said, snickering, the two pieces of Ginny's wand falling to the floor. "Now you have no wand." Twirling his own wand, Carrow advanced on Ginny. "Have you ever seen your own insides?" he asked as if on a whim.

Ginny scrambled backwards, her hand throbbing.

"A beating heart held in one's own hand," he mused, taking one step forward after the other. "Such power in just one organ."

Ginny blanched.

"One's victim must be alive, alive and alert, for the spell to work correctly," he said. "It's terribly difficult to cast."

Gulping, she reached for something, anything with which she could throw at him, preferably something hard and damaging.

"But don't worry your pretty little head over that. I've had lots of practice."

He drew his wand, caressing it lovingly.

Ginny shuddered.

Pointing the wand at Ginny, Carrow waved it, Ginny's heart sputtering, the first syllables of the curse sounding from his lips. From behind him, a spell flew, hitting Carrow dead center in his back. Freezing, his eyes wide in shock, he fell forward. Ginny stared at his form, her heart palpitating as it realized just how close it was to being ripped from her chest. Trembles began to travel through her body, but she pushed those down.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" Hermione skidded to the ground beside Ginny, grabbing her around the shoulders.

Taking a shaky breath, she patted her chest, still feeling the beating of her heart. "Yeah, I'm alright," she said, flexing her injured hand gingerly.

Behind Hermione, Draco knelt beside Luna stiffly, as if he were in pain. "She's not dead," he said. "She's still breathing."

Hermione glanced once behind herself before offering her hand to Ginny. "Come on, we have to get to the Hide Away."

Ginny took Hermione's hand with her good hand and got to her feet, grabbing the older girl around the waist to gain what shaky balance she had. Hermione hissed, backing away, one hand plastered to her side.

"Sorry," Ginny winced.

"It's alright, just a few broken ribs," she said, closing her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. Hermione looked at Ginny. "Where's your wand?"

Ginny nodded at the remains of her wand cast across the stones a few paces away from her. "He broke it," she said morosely.

Draco hefted Luna's weight in his arms and flinched, groaning. "Come on, we need to go," he said.

* * *

Neville raced through the seventh floor corridors, a half dozen Deatheaters in hot pursuit behind him. Though a prominent limp slowed him down, the urgency of his situation deadened the feeling in his left ankle. Three floors below, he had been making a hasty retreat when, head on, he had come face to face with a mass of Deatheaters bent on leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake. Thinking quick on his feet, Neville had spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction. Heavy wandfire had followed him, suits of armor, paintings, and statues exploding. Debris had hailed all around him, bruising his flesh. Desperately, he scrambled to the seventh floor, loosing his footing as he changed staircases. His ankle had turned beneath him painfully, tendons and ligaments snapping.

He had to keep moving, his life depending on it, this being the mantra he kept repeating in his head as he dodged spells and curses. A nasty acid green hex sailed over his head. Neville ducked and spun around a corner, darting behind a half-destroyed statue of a woman. Panting, he braced his hands on his knees, eyes watching in terror as they caught up to him. Tucked between the statue and the wall, he watched as they came to a stop not even a meter away from where he hid.

"Where'd he go?" one asked. "He was just here."

Another sneered. "He can't have gotten far."

Yet another snorted. "Not with that ankle."

"Oi," the first said. "He probably went down here." He gestured to an adjacent hallway.

The Deatheaters grunted their agreement. Neville let out the breath of air he'd been holding in and carefully hopped out into the corridor on his uninjured foot. Tentatively, he placed the other one down on the ground. Then, limping, he headed towards the end of the hallway, the Hide Away not too far away. Reaching it, he half limped and half hopped three times up and down the hallway, concentrating as hard as he could on his need for somewhere safe. Like clockwork, the door appeared.

"Finally," he muttered, opening the door.

Expecting the warmth of their Hide Away, he was taken aback when, instead, he got a room full of junk. Frowning, he closed the door behind him, craning his neck as he glanced upwards at the towering piles of odds and ends that were packed into the room. Tiny pathways were carved through the room, weaving between the mountains of broken furniture, piles of discarded books, and scatterings of smashed bottles. In interest, he peered through one of the towering, peaked windows and down onto Hogwarts' grounds. A battle still raged even on the school's front lawn. Looking away, Neville poked through the room's contents, ducking quickly as a Fanged Frisbee, its magic having diminished, wobbled precariously through the air. Stepping to the side, he braced himself on the back of an old chair, a rusted ax resting against it and was distracted by a bright twinkle a few meters away.

Curious, he limped forward. An old tiara, tarnished and smudged with age, sat amidst a pile of muggle trading cards. Reaching down, he picked it up, turning it this way and that, studying it. The light streaming in from the high, cathedral windows reflected faintly off of an inscription etched into the metal.

"'Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure,'" Neville read before shrugging with disinterest and dropping it back onto the pile of trading cards.

* * *

The crashing Great Hall doors hung from their hinges, the sound reverberating through the remains of the room. As if this were their queue, a hush descended over the Deatheaters, the fighting ceasing as a robed figure entered the battle-torn Great Hall. A heartbeat of silence passed before two fine-boned, white hands removed the hood, Lord Voldemort's glowing, red eyes casting about in a pleased manner.

Gasping, Harry barely repressed a scream, hand clutching his head.

Dumbledore straightened up, eyes focused on Voldemort. "Tom," he said as way of a greeting. The battle had taken its toll on the Headmaster, the man trembling and finding it hard to maintain an upright position. His wand hand hung limply, though his wand was still clutched within his fingers.

"Dumbledore, yes, we meet again," he said, gliding forward.

Deatheaters parted and bowed to their master.

From behind the overturned table, Harry and Ron watched.

Lord Voldemort shifted his attention from Dumbledore to Snape, who stood beside Dumbledore on the opposite side of which McGonagall stood.

"Severus, I believe it is time you proved your loyalty to me." His words were delivered with a silky voice.

"Tom, there is a better way," Dumbledore said, his words not a plea for mercy.

Voldemort sneered. "There is no other way," he said. "You and your muggle-loving beliefs have tainted our society long enough. Muggles are nothing but creatures to be dominated and tamed," he roared. "The infusion of their blood with ours is a mockery, a disrespect to everything we've fought for."

Dumbledore's face fell, his expression bordering upon sorrowful. "How I've lead you astray, my boy," he said.

He ignored the old man's words. "Change is upon us," he said, turning to Snape. "And it begins now. _Severus!_"

The Potions Master tensed his shoulders, letting any emotion dissolve from his facial features.

Harry and Ron gripped the edge of the table, their eyes peeking around, widening as they watched the tableau unfolding right before their eyes.

"Your loyalty, Severus," Voldemort said.

Severus glanced at McGonagall. "Forgive me," he mouthed, his lips moving almost imperceptibly.

"If it must be, then it must be," Dumbledore said, letting his wand drop to the ground.

Voldemort grinned with glee, folding his hands.

Raising his wand, Snape shifted his eyes back to Dumbledore.

"No, no, no," Harry began to mumble, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Ron's hand kept him from bolting upwards.

A pregnant pause heralded for a moment, breaths held, and then two words were spoken.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Green light flashed, Harry wrenched free from Ron's grasp, and Voldemort's head snapped around.

"Harry Potter!"

"Harry, no!" Ron leapt up.

"You bastard," Harry hollered, setting out for Snape. "He _trusted_ you."

Ron grabbed the back of Harry's robes. "_Silencio_," he said, Harry's mouth moving in silent motion. Then, like a Deatheater out of Azkaban, they hightailed it out of the Great Hall, Voldemort's roar being the catalyst for dozens of curses aimed their way. Dragging Harry, Ron knew exactly where to go, there being only one truly safe place left.

* * *

Hermione, Ginny, and Draco, Luna still unconscious, arrived in the seventh floor corridor at exactly the same time that Harry and Ron did. Ginny gasped and launched herself at the black-haired boy.

"Harry!"

"Snape killed Dumbledore…Voldemort's here," he said, gasping for air, his words mixed with hers. Harry grabbed her in an embrace, glancing over his head at the rest of the DA Core, a grim and angered look on his face.

Hermione blanched, edging closer to Draco. "He's _dead_?"

"Voldemort's here?" Draco asked at the same time.

Ginny pulled away. "You've got to be kidding."

Harry shook his head.

Reaching out with her mind, seeking a moment's comfort, Hermione squared her shoulders. "Even more reason to get out of here," she said, Draco returning the gentle touch, glancing at her. "As in, right now."

Ron glanced at Luna, his face paling. "She…she isn't…"

Draco shook his head. "Dead? No," he said, staggering. "But someone needs to take her. Please…"

Immediately, Harry stepped forward, Luna transferring arms.

_**Your numbing spell's wearing off**_, Draco said to Hermione. _**Cast it again, will you?**_

She glanced at him, his face ashen. _**Of course. Hold still. **_"_Obtorpesco_," she cast, Draco's face relaxing and the edging panic rising towards the surface of his consciousness fading.

"Oi," Harry then said, something occurring to him as he glanced about. "Where's Neville?"

The DA Core froze, the sick realization registering in their heads.

"Last I saw he was with you," Ginny said.

"Same here, before we got separated," Draco added.

"I haven't seen him for hours," Ron said, horrified.

Fearful glances were exchanged.

"We have to go back," Harry decided.

"We can't just leave him," Draco said next.

From under them, an explosion shook the castle.

Hermione glanced in the direction of the blast. "But we can't all just go back down there," she said. "We're bleeding, exhausted, and injured…"

"We should get in here first, and then decide," Ginny spoke up, the door to the Hide Away appearing after three quick paces.

Another explosion followed by a series of blasts sounded from below, growing closer. The floor quaked, dust and stones falling from the ceiling.

There was no question what the DA Core would do.

* * *

Neville froze as he heard the room's door open. But then voices carried, voices he recognized.

"Harry?! Ron? Draco? Luna? Luna!" Stumbling over haphazard, discarded objects, he skidded to a stop as his friends came into view. The first thing he saw, the first sight that drew his eyes, was Luna hanging limply in Harry's arms. "Oh God," he moaned.

"She's not dead," Harry said quickly before adding, "and neither are you."

Ecstatic greetings were exchanged, back slaps and hugs given all around as they shared brief versions of their battle experiences.

"He's really dead?" Neville asked, stunned, after Harry filled him in on recent developments.

Neville took Luna from Harry, holding her closely.

"No thanks to Snape," Harry answered.

The DA Core shared Harry's sentiments, adding their own in regards to the greasy, traitor of a Potions Master. If words could kill, barring those said in conjunction with wand movement, Severus Snape would have been dismembered, decapitated, disemboweled, and robbed of that which every man protects. A murderous glint shone in each of their eyes, unspoken words sharing what they would do to the man if they ever came upon him.

A weary moment then passed, the DA Core wilting, their minds shifting to more immediate concerns.

"Where are we?" Ginny asked, looking around.

"I don't know. I was thinking hard about somewhere safe, our Hide Away, when this appeared," Neville said. "Lots of neat things in here. Did you see the stuffed troll over there?" He pointed off to the right.

A quick assessment of the room was attained, the DA Core marveling at the room's contents but agreeing that escape from the castle was a more urgent need than their own curiosities.

"So, what do we do now?" Ron asked. He had sat down in an old, over-stuffed chair, the stuffing spouting out in every which way.

"We need the Hide Away room," Harry said. "Neville, you called this room up, so you need to call up the Hide Away."

"How…how do I do that?" he asked.

"Just think about what you want the room to do," Harry instructed.

"I'll try." Neville nodded, closing his eyes.

The room with the haphazard assortment of objects blurred, fading from view, the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of their Hide Away coming into view.

"I did it!" Neville grinned, the DA Core patting him on the back.

"Well done, mate," Harry said.

A fire crackled in the fireplace, the room just as they had left it. School books were scattered across the tables, parchments and quills filling the spaces in between. A stray set of robes was tossed over one of the armchairs, various articles of clothing or possessions strewn about the room. On the wall above the tables, the Marauder's Map detailed the legion of Deatheaters filling the castle. They covered all seven floors. The DA Core collapsed onto the couches, the adrenaline rush from the battle wearing off, fatigue and pain taking its place. Closing their eyes, they relished the quiet relief of safety.

"Hello."

A voice drew their attention.

"Did you hear that?" Ron asked, sitting up stiffly.

"You're hearing things, Weasley," Draco snapped.

_**Be nice…**_

"No, I assure you, you're not hearing things," the voice said again.

This had the DA Core sitting up, all senses alert. Harry drew his wand, the others doing the same.

"Up here," it instructed. "Above the fireplace."

The pixie portrait, that had once failed to move even the slightest bit, had now come to life. Bouncing and twirling, the cute pixie smiled down at the DA Core.

"You need to escape," she said, her words not a question but a statement.

Harry stepped forward. "We do."

A click was heard. "Step through and you'll find solace," she said, gesturing to the edge of her frame.

Frowning, Harry carefully reached up and pulled on the edge of the frame. It swung open, revealing a dark tunnel. "Where does this lead?" he asked the pixie.

She giggled. "Enter, and you shall see."

He glanced back at the DA Core. "Do we go?"

An explosion, louder and more earth-shattering than the first two, came from not too far away.

"Yes," Draco insisted. "I say we do."

The rest of them agreed, and thus it was determined. A scramble ensued to push one of the couches over, the DA Core aiding each other up onto the couch and then the fireplace mantle. Harry, going first, lit his wand, shining it into the tunnel, only darkness meeting him. He turned back.

"Neville, hand me Luna," he instructed, the brown-haired boy carefully stepping onto the couch.

"Wait," Hermione said, stopping him. She drew her wand. "_Mobilicorpus._"

Luna floated up towards Harry.

Neville grinned a thanks at Hermione before climbing up. One by one, they clambered onto the mantle and stepped into the tunnel. Hermione, being the last to enter, closed the portrait like a door.

"Thank you," she whispered to the pixie.

"A favor called is a favor granted," the pixie answered, the frame clicking shut.

Darkness met them, a half dozen wandlights illuminating their way.

"I guess we walk," Harry said, glancing back at his friends.

A rumbling rattled the portrait.

"Sooner the better, Potter," Draco said.

As they began walking, Ron glanced over at his friends. "So much for the Felix Felicis," he said begrudgingly.

Harry turned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call our situation right now lucky," he said.

"I would," Neville spoke up softly, turning to Ron. "We lived, didn't we?"


	54. Portus

**Author's Note** – Yet, another chapter. This next part of Fire Dragon, here until the end, is by far my favorite part of the entire fanfic. Let me know what you think.

**Another Note** – The chapter title means, "Haven," in Latin. Interesting tidbit to think about. The spell, _colloportus_, that seals a door, has _portus_ as its root. Also, the name Haven plays another role in Fire Dragon, but you won't find out until chapter fifty six.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Four**

"Portus"

* * *

It was a late hour of the night, or early morning depending upon one's view, when the DA Core arrived at the end of the tunnel. In various stages of exhaustion, nearly all of them having some sort of injury, they stood on dead feet. Six beams of wandlight focused upon the smooth, unmarked wall that stood at the end. No visible handle, latch, or other means of entry made itself known. Harry reached out, pressing a hand against the wall, testing it to no avail.

"Well, what now?" Ron asked.

"There has to be a way out," Hermione said, stepping forward. Reaching up, she ran her hand along the wall and over to where it joined the tunnel at the corner. "A tunnel that leads nowhere makes no sense."

"This whole night has made no sense," Ron muttered.

"Bloody Snape," Harry added maliciously.

Ginny aimed her wand along the corner's seam, guiding it for Hermione's benefit.

"Ah ha!" Hermione exclaimed, everybody leaning in towards where she crouched in the bottom left-hand corner.

"Did you find a way in?" Harry asked.

"I think…just about…there!" The wall clicked, swinging outward the tiniest degree. A slant of warm light entered the tunnel.

"How'd you do that?" Ginny asked.

"There's a small hole down here, just big enough for a finger," she said, gesturing to where, sure enough, a hole had been drilled into the wall. "There's a button I pressed, and it opened."

Harry, at the forefront of the group, pushed on the wall, it swinging out the rest of the way. The DA Core stood up and peered out into what looked like a cozy sitting room. Gripping the edge of the tunnel, Harry took a tentative step outward, poking his head into the room.

"You think it's safe?" Neville asked. Luna still remained unconscious in his arms, but her breathing was steady and constant.

The DA Core shared a look.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Draco said. He leaned to one side, a hand braced against the wall. "And I don't know about you, but I don't know how much longer I can stand."

_**You ok?**_ Hermione took his arm.

_**For now…in five minutes I might not be.**_

She gave him a worried glance, slipping an arm around his waist.

Harry glanced at them before venturing out further, stepping down onto what appeared to be a platform. Looking down at his feet, the sounds of a crackling fire somewhere below and the floor at least a meter or two downwards, he realized that he stood on a mantle to a fireplace. Turning around, he crouched down, slipping his wand into his back pocket.

"Didn't Moody ever tell you that you'll blast your arse off if you do that?" Ginny asked.

Harry glanced upwards at her, glaring, as he carefully lowered his body to the ground.

"I'd like to see the day that happens," Draco muttered to himself.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry shot back, "or I'll blast _your_ arse off."

Draco weakly sneered, the effect lost in the veil of fatigue and pain that clouded his features.

Harry rolled his eyes and reached up to help Ginny down, Ron clambering down afterwards. Neville, next, floated Luna down, Harry taking her, before awkwardly climbing down himself, landing unsteadily on his uninjured ankle. Hermione glanced back at Draco.

_**You first**_, she said.

He shook his head. _**Ladies first.**_

She planted a fist on one hip. _**Oh? Then who's going to help you down?**_

_**I'll manage on my own.**_

_**With a broken wing?**_

"Oi, what are you two waiting for?" Harry asked, craning his neck upwards.

"Hold on, he's being stubborn," Hermione responded.

_**If you go first, then I'll be able to help you**_, she said to him. _**There's no shame in it, Draco.**_

Groaning, he complied, stepping out onto the mantle, facing her. Wincing, he knelt down, Harry and Ron spotting him from behind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gingerly lowered himself towards the ground, Hermione grabbing onto his arms to prevent him from loosing control. Then, with a small jump, he landed, stumbling a few steps into Ron.

"Whoa," the red head said, grabbing his friend before he made a face-plant into the floor.

Draco cursed, taking a deep breath and holding it.

_**See? Nothing to it**_, Hermione said as Harry helped her down, her ribs protesting the entire way. _**Now, remember to breathe, love.**_

He let out a shaky breath, the sharp pains receding. _**Breathing's overrated.**_

The wall they had exited through turned out to be a portrait, empty of any occupants, that hung over the fireplace. Once it clicked shut, the DA Core wilted visibly, the after-effects of battle finally having a say in what they did. Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Draco collapsed on the overstuffed chairs and sofas arranged around the fireplace. Neville, who had gently laid Luna down on one of the couches, sat down on the floor beside her. He leaned against the couch, one hand holding hers as he watched her chest rise and fall to a constant rhythm. She was still breathing, he thought, focusing on that one positive.

"Where do you think we are?" Neville asked, glancing about the room.

"I don't bloody care, Longbottom," Draco, laying on his belly, growled from the opposite couch. Hermione lay curled up at his feet, eyes closed, the beginning veils of sleep dragging her down.

Ron, who had flopped into one of the cushy armchairs, had already passed out and let out a soft snore, mouth hanging open.

"I think Ron's got the right idea," Harry said, words slurring. "We can figure it out in the morning."

"Mmhm," Draco said, resting his head on his folded arms.

Neville, feeling exhaustion's pull within him, agreed silently.

Eyelids grew heavy, the warmth and quiet of the room, broken only by the gentle crackling from the fire, lulled the DA Core into a heavy state of sleep.

* * *

As Hermione woke the next morning, she became aware of one thing, and one thing only. She had an urgent need for the bathroom. Sitting up, she quietly disentangled herself from Draco's legs. The DA Core had fallen asleep where they had dropped, their positions having not changed all night. That was, with one exception. On the adjacent couch, Luna had rolled over onto her side, her back to the room. Hermione took that as a good sign, carefully stepping over Harry's legs that were propped up onto the low coffee table. Maneuvering around the furniture in the unfamiliar room, she bent down over Luna. The girl had the peacefulness of sleep rather than the deadness of an unconscious state written upon her features. Hermione sighed in relief.

Straightening up, she took a brief glance about the room. The fireplace, above which they had arrived, still crackled with a roaring fire. Above, the painting's occupant had returned. Hermione frowned, it being the exact same painting that hung in the Hide Away, the same one through which they had escaped. The pixie girl was once again frozen. Sighing, she turned around to face the rest of the room, plush, overstuffed couches and chairs filling the space. Their upholstery, a warm mix of maroon, gold, and cream, coordinated in a pleasing manner with the Oriental rug spread across the hardwood floor.

Two ornate windows sat within the wall adjacent to the fireplace, the tops a semi-circle of stained glass. Cream curtains hung from each window, brushing against the hardwood floor bordering the Oriental rug. Hermione took a peek outside.

An overgrown and poorly tended yard stood on the other side of the window, weeds taking control of the landscaping. A shadow loomed over the yard, giving the impression of an overcast day. Hermione wondered if it would rain. To the side of the yard, almost out of sight, an old, half-dead tree stood, a broken tree swing dragging along the ground. She wondered where they were, the vantage point outside not being a friendly one.

Shrugging to herself, she passed by the archway to a hallway and moved into the next room, the kitchen. A door sat directly to her left. Impulsively, she opened it, crying in relief as a small bathroom revealed itself on the other side. A toilet and a sink, it was all she needed. Reliving herself, she turned on the tap, the water flowing into the porcelain basin. A bar of soap sat on the edge of the sink.

_**Hermione?**_

She looked up. _**Yes?**_

_**Where are you?**_

_**Bathroom. Go into the next room. I'll be out in a moment.**_

Finishing up, she exited the bathroom. Draco stood by the sink, staring out the window. From behind, she could tell that he had a wild case of bed-head. On the wall above the kitchen table, a coo coo clock chimed once. Hermione glanced up, the time being a quarter to eleven in the morning. From the clock, crafted into a charming little house made from sticks bound together with vines, the sort of house that would be just at home in the middle of a forest, a tiny fairy, dressed in pink, popped out of the door. Curtsying, she giggled, covering her mouth with one hand, and disappeared back into the house, her wings fluttering.

Hermione stared at the clock for a moment before returning her gaze to Draco. "I wonder who's house this is," she said as way of greeting.

He turned, Hermione suppressing a grimace. Draco's skin was ashen grey.

"Are you alright? Sit down," she instructed, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs at the large, oak table.

Draco sat sideways in the chair, hunching over. "We need to set my wing," he said.

Hermione tutted over him, recasting the numbing spell to relieve some of his pain. Gently, she ran her hand over the damaged appendage.

"We're all such a mess," he said, leaning against the back of the chair.

She thought of the state everybody was in when they tumbled out of the tunnel and into the strange house. Their clothes had been torn, blasted in some spots by stray curses. Blood smeared their faces, their bodies bruised and injured. Once everybody woke, those would need tending to. And that wasn't even mentioning their mental scars, the ones that would haunt them at night and possibly for the rest of their lives.

Hermione sighed though her nose. "But we're alive," she said. "Flex your other wing."

Draco unfolded his uninjured wing, Hermione studying the structure of the bones and joints. Then, gently, almost hesitantly, she examined the other. Draco closed his eyes, his breath catching in the back of his throat.

_**Breath, love**_, she reminded him. "Well, it's definitely a break."

_**I could have told you that**_, he grumbled.

In the other room, a cry of surprise diverted their attentions. "Luna!"

Standing up, Hermione rushed to the doorway.

Luna sat up on the couch, her hair mussed and her face smeared with dried blood. However, she was awake and alert. Her eyes blinked owlishly at the rest of the DA Core staring at her.

"Hello," she said. "I presume we're not at Hogwarts anymore."

Across the room, Ron snorted. "I could have told you that."

"What happened?" she asked. "All I remember was that ugly man…and Ginny and…and…" She blanched.

Neville scooted closer to her, grabbing her hand in an act of comfort.

"Oh, yes," she said softly. "I remember now." Her hand went to her nose, a small bump marring the button-sized facial structure.

"But you're ok, right?" Neville asked hopefully.

"I expect so," she said and looked up. "Is everybody else alright? Where's Draco?"

"In the kitchen," she said. "We need to set his wing."

_**What's the hold up?**_ He asked over their connection, appearing in the doorway beside Hermione.

"Luna's awake," she said audibly. "Go sit down."

Luna tilted her head to the side. "What's happened to his wing?" she asked.

"It's broken," he answered.

"Oh, I could set it for you," she said. "I've done it many times with Daddy."

Draco looked at Hermione.

_**Don't look at me, it's your wing.**_

He deliberated in his head, the throbbing appendage adding insult to what he surmised would be future injury, or at least a great amount of pain. Luna continued to gaze up at him serenely. The vision was disturbed by the blood smeared across her face. Closing his eyes, he sighed and let his head fall back.

"Fine," he said. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Draco sat on the floor, the expression on his face letting on that he was _not_ a happy camper. Luna sat behind him. Five minutes earlier, Ginny had ventured down the hallway leading off from the sitting room, finding a linen closet, a bathroom, and three bedrooms. She brought back a white sheet. Luna was currently immersed in tearing the sheet into several wide, long strips. The DA Core circled them, watching in rapt attention. Hermione sat beside Draco.

"If you need my help, let me know," she said to Luna.

Luna smiled. "I will, but I don't expect that I will need to. Daddy and I have mended dozens of injured birds over the years. Did you know there's a muggle profession all about healing injured and sick animals? Daddy's very interested in that sort of thing, especially birds. Birds are his favorite animal."

In front of her, Draco grumbled. "I'm _not_ a bird, Lovegood," he said indignantly.

"No, you're not," she said, tearing the last sheet strip. "However, you have wings like a bird. Your wing anatomy is very similar to a bird's." She hummed to herself, tilting her head this way and that as she studied Draco's wings. "It makes me wonder…"

"Wonder what?" Draco snapped.

"It makes me wonder what came first…the bird or the Ignius," she mused, quite seriously, before instructing Draco to fold his good wing flat against his back.

In Draco's head, Hermione snorted.

_**Finding this amusing?**_

She smiled. _**Only for my own benefit**_, she said before explaining the humorous parallel between what Luna had just said in regards to birds and Ignii and the Muggle counterpart about chickens and eggs.

_**You're hilarious**_, he said dryly, hissing sharply as Luna, with Neville and Ron's help, carefully set Draco's broken, folding it across his back.

Using the long strips of torn sheet, Luna carefully bound Draco's wings tightly to his body, the rest of the DA Core helping in one way or another. Finished, Draco breathed a sigh of relief, the constant sharp pains, lessened somewhat by Hermione's numbing spell, were even further relieved.

"You know, that is a lot better, Lovegood," he said, standing up. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said quietly, sitting on the couch beside Neville.

The next few hours were devoted to filling the DA Core's basic needs. Luna wrapped Neville's ankle, a tap to his foot reducing the swelling, guaranteeing a quicker recovery than the Muggle alternative. Hermione had her ribs poked at by Luna, the blond-haired girl having quite the affinity for healing, the DA Core discovered. Ginny's hand was looked after, the DA Core agreeing that no bones were broken, her fingers just bruised, but that the next time they came across Amycus Carrow, he would truly learn what wrath the DA Core could invoke. Cuts were healed, bruises treated with St. Alabaster's Bruise and Abrasion Cream, a jar of which was found in the bathroom cabinet. All the while, the DA Core shared their own stories from the battle, Harry and Ron finishing off with their account of Lord Voldemort and the eventual death of Albus Dumbledore at the hand of Severus Snape.

By the early afternoon, the DA Core had congregated in the kitchen, the remains of a small feast crowding the table. In contrast to the dimly lit, cozy atmosphere of the sitting room they had spent the night in, the kitchen was light and airy, a country appeal to the décor. Pale blue and white tiles covered the floor, oak cabinets covering one wall, the wood a match to the table along the opposite wall.

"I wonder if there's food here," Draco had wondered earlier. A bowl of lemon sherbets sat on the kitchen table, one of which he grabbed, popping it into his mouth.

Hermione, a purpose set before her, set out to investigate the cabinets, Ginny along side her.

"It's completely stocked," she said in amazement, holding one of the cabinets open. Boxes of cereal crowded one shelf, a canister of oatmeal above that with more boxes, these ones of crackers and biscuits.

Ginny moved along the row of cupboards, opening each one, some containing cans, jars, bag, and boxes of food while others stored dishes, cups, and the required equipment for cooking.

"Oi, the cold box is packed too," Ron said, bent over in front of the cold box, his head emerging from over the door, an apple in hand, his teeth crunching into it a moment later.

That commenced a scrambled feast, the DA Core raiding the cupboards, pulling out anything and everything, breakfast on the menu.

"I never thought battle could make me so hungry," Ron said over a bowl of Wizard O's.

"Everything makes you hungry, mate," Harry said, buttering a large stack of toast.

"That's true," he responded.

Ginny snorted.

The next several moments were silent, cereal pouring into bowls, oatmeal being properly flavored, oranges, bananas, and apples from the fruit bowl disappearing. Quiet sounds of eating filled the kitchen, the quiet ticking of the clock an accompaniment. Nothing was said, the DA Core having only eyes for the food set before them. Even Draco and Hermione paused their inner commentary in lieu of a meal. Above them, the coo coo clock chimed in the first hour of the afternoon, causing them to glanced upwards. Four fairies spilled out of the house as the tinny, metallic chimes brought in the new hour. Aflight on gossamer wings, they danced together midair, diving a swooping, before disappearing once again into the house, the DA Core's attentions returned once again to their breakfast, albeit a late one.

Neville sat with his hand in Luna's. Reaching halfway across the table, he grabbed for the box of Wizard O's, but Draco got to them first.

"Need something Longbottom?" he asked, his tone a playful mix of humor.

Draco waggled the box in front of Neville.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Don't be a prat, Malfoy," he said.

"A prat, me?" he asked, gesturing to himself innocently. Then, laughing, he tossed the box of cereal to Neville.

Catching it, Neville shook his head and opened the box. However, something caught his attention.

"That's strange," he said, staring into the box.

"What is?" Hermione asked, her spoon chasing after the last few bits of cereal in her bowl.

Draco, beside her, cocked his head to the side, his bowl of sweetened oatmeal half eaten.

"Wasn't this box half empty?" Neville asked, shaking it experimentally.

"Yeah? What of it?" Ron asked.

"It's completely full," he said, tipping it slightly, cereal pouring into his bowl.

"That doesn't make sense," Hermione said.

The half empty fruit bowl on the table suddenly was victim to a series of pops. Wide eyed, the DA Core watched as the half-dozen pieces of fruit consumed that afternoon suddenly reappeared. The butter dish, bearing several knife-gouges courtesy of Harry, became smooth and whole again while the pitcher of pumpkin juice refilled itself as if some unseen entity were pouring more juice into the pitcher. Following suit, the milk too replenished itself, a full jug sitting on the table where a half-filled one sat previously. Stunned, the DA Core stared, their mouths hanging open.

"Self-replenishing charms," Hermione then said. "The kitchen must have self-replenishing charms on it."

"Those are really complicated," Ginny said admiringly.

"Well, that's handy, then," Draco said.

Neville nodded. "We won't have to go out to the market," he said.

Draco sneered lightly. "Draco Malfoy does _not_ go to market," he said.

Ginny looked over. "Why are you speaking in third person?" she asked.

_**Yeah, I'd like to know that too**_, Hermione quipped.

He shrugged. "Because I can," he said simply, downing the rest of his pumpkin juice.

* * *

Once the kitchen had been charmed clean, the DA Core finally set about figuring out the answer to the one question they all were asking.

"If the tunnel led from Hogwarts," Harry said, the DA Core lounging about the sitting room, "then we must still be either in or near Hogwarts, maybe in or on the outskirts of Hogsmeade."

Hermione shook her head. "Look out the window," she said, sitting up and gesturing to the dreary view outside. "Does that look like Hogwarts to you, or anywhere you've ever seen?"

"Alright, then maybe we're not at Hogwarts," he said, getting up to look out the window.

Neville stood at the other window, there being two in the room. A rod-iron perch stood in the corner beside this window. "Oi, come here," he said. "All of you."

The DA Core crowded around Neville.

"Do you see that?" he asked.

"It's a ghost," Luna said.

The transparent form of a woman glided slowly through the yard, an arm trailing through one of the bushes along the back of the property, and disappeared into the side of a derelict and half-collapsed building just within sight.

"Who is she?" Ginny asked.

"Dunno," Neville said.

"This makes no sense," Draco said, backing up and heading for the kitchen. The DA Core followed. "I was looking out the kitchen window this morning and…" He pushed aside the white, lacy curtains. The DA Core peered outside.

"Hogwarts," Harry said.

Out the kitchen window, Hogwarts sat off in the distance, the lake between them. Ripples grew out from the center of the body of water, the giant squid's tentacle curling up from the water's surface. Contrary to the cloudy, overcast day viewed from the sitting room's window, the kitchen window showed a bright and sunny day.

"Oi, where's all the snow?" Ron suddenly asked. The DA Core gave him confused looks. "It was snowing yesterday, and now…blimey, the trees have leaves."

A look out the window showed that, sure enough, every tree on Hogwarts' grounds had a full crown of deep green leaves, the type of leaf one would expect during Summer. All seven of them traded mystified looks, an inkling of a question forming between them.

_**You don't think?**_ Hermione asked Draco.

_**Only if you're thinking what I'm thinking…**_

As a group, the DA Core moved into the next room, the dining room. A handsome, mahogany table, with matching high-backed chairs, stood in the center of the room, adorned with a cream-colored table runner. On one wall, between two windows, a coordinating China hutch sat, a collection of blue and white, willow-patterned china on display within. The DA Core moved to the windows.

"This one's different too," Ginny said.

Harry creased his brow, a hand running through his hair. "Weird, this is just weird."

Out the dining room window, the DA Core peered down and down; the street far below them boasted a busy, metropolitan area, the sidewalks packed with masses of people. A skyline sat in the distance.

"The Empire State Building," Hermione blurted out, pointing with one finger towards a very tall building amidst other towering structures. "This is New York."

"New York?" Ron asked.

"It's in the States…"

"I know that," he said indignantly.

"My parents and I visited a few summers ago," she said, ignoring Ron.

Before anyone could comment, they were moving into the next room in rapt anticipation. Bookcases lined the walls, great mahogany shelves, packed with books, reaching from floor to ceiling with a desk of similar design. Hermione ached to run her fingers across their spines; she made a mental note to spend some time in this room later on. A tall office building sat outside the window, large windows reflecting the sunlight. Muggles passed by clad in business suits, briefcases clutched in hand.

Draco leaned forward, trying to make out the lettering on the office building's sign. "Smithe and Bosworth," he read and glanced at Hermione.

She shrugged. "I have no clue where that is," she said.

Their investigation soon continued onward, an arched doorway leading into the hallway that would take them back to the sitting room. Along the hallway were five doors.

"This one's the linen closet," Ginny said, opening the door to reveal shelves of clean sheets, blankets, towels, and the like.

The door between the linen closet and the library opened up to reveal a bathroom. From the doorway, they could tell that the view outside brought in bright light. Close up, the window revealed an expansive field filled with long grasses and a forest along the border. Off in the distance, a lone tree stood as if on guard.

Three bedrooms occupied the hallway, each having a different scene outside their windows. The first bedroom, decorated in tones of blue, displayed a muggle suburb out its window, a play park with swings, slides, and a climbing structure to the right. Across the hallway, the yellow bedroom featured a forest scene through its two windows, sunlight filtering down through the treetop leaves. The last bedroom, this one a more earthy blend of brown and tan, boasted three circular windows, set high into the wall. Ron climbed up onto one of the wooden chairs that occupied the room and looked outside.

"It's an ocean," he said, glancing down at his friends.

One by one, the DA Core stepped onto the chair, their noses peeking out. And, sure enough, the sight that met them was one of a calm, blue sea, the horizon a flawless line.

Stunned, and in a confusion of thoughts, the DA Core returned to the sitting room. One question, and one question only, encompassed their minds.

Where were they?


	55. Novus Extrinsecus

**Author's Note** – I know this is a little late, but I worked a lot this week and didn't have the time to work on Fire Dragon. Hopefully, this week will be kinder to the writer in me. I'm fond of this chapter, specifically the end. Let me know what you think.

**Another Note** – The chapter title means, "News From the Outside," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Five**

"Novus Extrinsecus"

* * *

The house that the DA Core resided in, though a mystery in more ways than they could presently explain, was an amenable comfort, all of their needs met and exceeded. Several blissful days passed in peace and comfort, days in which they recuperated mentally, emotionally, and physically from the battle. Their wounds, unfortunately, were not just on the outside, the horrors of their memories of those frenzied number of hours lurking beneath the surface of their thoughts. However, they had each other, that in itself being enough for the moment. And, as anybody would say, life went on.

On their second morning in the house, an owl arrived, tapping at the kitchen window.

Hermione, Draco, Ron, and Luna looked up, the rest of their friends still sleeping.

"Um, we have an owl," Ron said lethargically, his eyes heavily lidded as his head drooped down towards his breakfast.

"No shit Weasley," Draco growled, snarling in the general direction of the red-head.

Neither had slept well the previous night.

Rolling her eyes in irritation, Hermione got up from the table. Pushing the curtain to the side, the view of Hogwarts as pristine as ever, she unlocked the latch on the window and heaved it upwards. Warm, yet muted, morning sunshine filtered into the room as the owl soared into the kitchen. Experimentally, she peeked outside.

"That's interesting," Luna said, brushing against Hermione's shoulder.

The blond girl wore an interesting combination of stripped pajama pants and a silk embroidered blouse, her friends having long since dismissed her strange sense of fashion. Upon investigation of the bedrooms, the DA Core had found the wardrobes and drawers filled with clothing, everything and anything they might have a need for.

"What is?" Harry asked, entering the kitchen wearing only a pair of blue, cotton pajama bottoms.

Ginny followed him, rubbing her eyes sleepily, her red hair almost as bushy as Hermione's. "Huh?"

"Out the window," Luna said. "It's there, yet not there all at the same time."

The Hogwarts out the open window was viewed as if through a film, the borders of the castle and surrounding grounds blurred around the edges. Harry, reaching forward, stuck his hand outside. Tingling crept up his arm, his hand finding an unseen resistance outside the window. Frowning, he shrugged and closed the window, resolving to sit down for breakfast. A box of Wizard O's sat on the table.

"Oi, who finished off the Wizard O's?" he asked just as the box shuffled on the inside, cereal reappearing. "Oh, right," he muttered, pouring the cereal into a bowl. "I keep forgetting about that…"

Hermione sat back down beside Draco, nursing a cup of tea and a piece of buttered toast.

_**So…**_Draco began, half finished with his oatmeal.

_**So what?**_

He glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows as he nodded at the window.

_**What's with the window?**_

_**Why don't you go open it and find out for yourself?**_ She snapped in a nasty manner.

Being the first to grab the paper, she opened it, shaking it out. It boasted the following headline:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE DEAD**

**Snape, Known Deatheater, Kills Albus Dumbledore**

By: Penny Broomhilda

_Two nights ago, during what has been referred to as The Hogwarts Battle, Albus Dumbledore, leader of The Light, was killed at the hand of Severus Snape, now a known Deatheater. Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School…_

_**Hey! That was completely unnecessary.**_ Draco pushed down the newspaper she held up to her face.

_**I don't care**_, she said, snapping the paper away.

Draco paused and frowned. _**Are you mad at me?**_

Both had ceased eating, the rest of the DA Core present noticing the death glare coming from Hermione.

_**Leave me alone.**_

_**I would if you weren't being a complete-**_

_**A complete what?**_ Her eyes drilled holes in his face, flaming beneath the brown.

_**Hermione…**_

_**Come on, what were you going to say?**_

He sighed and shook his head, returning to his oatmeal.

_**DRACO MALFOY!**_

_**Don't shout at me.**_

_**I'll shout if I want to.**_

_**Then I won't listen to you. I didn't do a bloody thing, and you're shouting at me. Whatever is going on with you, you should at least say something. Don't just yell at me. I won't stand for it, Hermione.**_ Ever so slightly, Draco dimmed their connection. He felt Hermione revolt and closed his eyes against the drumming at the back of his mind.

Fed up, she slammed the newspaper down on the table. Standing, she shoved her chair in, the table quaking.

"Oi, watch it, Hermione. You made me spill," Ron accused, pulling his cereal bowl closer to his body.

Hermione ignored him, brushing past Draco, her barefooted steps clipping as she stalked out of the kitchen, passing by Neville as he entered.

"What's going on?" he asked, glancing between Hermione, his stunned friends, and a frustrated Draco.

"Nothing, Longbottom," Draco said, standing up, walking out after her.

Eyebrows held upwards, Neville sat down beside Luna, glancing over Harry's shoulder as the black-haired boy picked up the paper.

"Where'd that come from?" he asked.

"An owl brought it," Harry said, baring his teeth at the headline and at Snape's name broadcasted across it.

"How?"

"The window, love," Luna said. "It's an enchanting house, isn't it? There are secrets everywhere." She smiled softly, her eyes containing a far-off sheen.

* * *

Draco moved down the hallway, stopping outside the door that lead to the blue bedroom. It had slammed moments earlier as Hermione tossed herself through the doorway, only anger and what Draco was beginning to distinguish as despair communicated through their link. Tentatively, he knocked on the door.

_**Hermione?**_

Nothing.

Hand on the doorknob, he turned it, the door opening a few inches. Quietly, he slipped into the room. Hermione lay on her side, facing the window. Muggle children ran through the streets, the world outside that particular window descending into twilight, and soon after, nighttime. For them, it was morning, and Draco spent a moment pondering their location.

A sniffling on the bed drew his attention away from the window. Three beds filled the room, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna sharing the blue bedroom. A table lamp glowed beside Hermione's bed, casting the room in a warm light. The room was spacious, though not overly so.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked outloud, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

A meek, _**no**_, was Hermione's answer.

_**Then what was that all about?**_

_**Nothing.**_

_**Hermione Granger, that was not nothing.**_

She sniffled, running her face across the pillow.

Draco reached out, shifting closer, his hand resting on her shoulder. _**Tell me.**_

Rolling over, she glanced up at him before studying the blue quilt.

_**Hermione…**_

She opened her mouth, intending to speak, but that only resulted in a sob, one coming after the other. Curling into herself, Hermione clutched her hands to her chest.

"Hey, hey, don't cry," he said, pleading, as he leaned down to lay beside her, shifting to accommodate his still bound wing, the appendage on the mend, magic helping it along. "Hermione, what's the matter. Please tell me."

_**Come on, you know how I hate when you cry. **_His tone turned humorously sarcastic. _**In fact, I'd probably do anything for you if you turned the waterworks on. It's irresistible.**_

Poking one eye out, she stared at him.

_**Ok, I'm sorry. But, really, what's going on?**_

_**I…I don't know. All I wanted to do since I woke up was cry, cry and hate the world.**_

_**It's an unfair place that we live in**_, he said.

_**I guess I'm just tired…**_

_**We all are.**_

_**I didn't sleep last night.**_

_**Nightmares?**_

_**Yeah.**_

_**Join the club. We're all having them. I think this was the first time I've seen Weasley up before nine in the morning on a day that we don't have classes.**_

Hermione turned quiet. _**We're never going to have classes again.**_

_**You don't know that. We still have our seventh year.**_

_**First we'll have to finish our sixth**_, she said logically, clutching onto his t-shirt. _**That's if there's still a Hogwarts.**_

_**Of course there will be. There's always a Hogwarts.**_

She didn't answer, nestling closer to Draco.

_**I'm sorry.**_

_**It's ok**_, he said, running a hand up and down her back, content to merely lay with her. After a while, his stomach protested the only partial breakfast fed to it earlier. _**Hey, let's go see if Weasley's eaten all of the cauldron cakes we found last night.**_

_**Self replenishing charms**_, she murmured as an answer, a hand reaching up to grab at Draco as he began to sit up. _**Don't go…**_

Sighing, ignoring his stomach for the time being, he settled back down beside his mate. His hand combed through her hair as she drifted off to sleep, his eyes watching as the sky outside faded.

* * *

Every morning, an owl delivered the latest edition of the Daily Prophet to the house, the bird always arriving at the kitchen window. The headlines varied, though all pertained to the same general topic: the war. The Sunday evening edition of The Daily Prophet featured:

**THE SECOND WAR BEGINS**

**The Light Meets He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Head-On**

By: Penny Broomhilda

_For fifteen years, after an infant Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who, the Wizarding World had lived in peace. However, a dark shadow hung over the community, the fear of a Second War heavy in their minds. Our worst fears are upon us…_

Monday's owl post brought:

**THE DA CORE: THEIR ROLE IN THE HOGWARTS BATTLE**

**Once Again, Harry Potter And His Friends Make History**

By: Keith Greenman

_Any witch or wizard remembers the fiasco at the Ministry of Magic at the end of last Spring. They would also remember the role the DA Core played. Apparently, our friends are out to make history again…_

The evening post, a Special Edition, printed a memorial piece to Albus Dumbledore, articles detailing the highlights of his life and his greatest achievements. A rumor of a published book on the Light's leader was in the works, editorial writer, Jean Panthes filling a page with wistful recollections and deep praises for the genius who had first thought of the idea.

Tuesday brought Christmas Eve and, yet, another issue of the Daily Prophet. The DA Core would receive the news contained within with a heavy heart.

**HOGWARTS: THE FIRST TO FALL**

**Deatheaters Overtake Castle**

By: Penny Broomhilda

_Four nights ago, Deatheaters stormed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A gallant fight ensued, teachers, students, Aurors, and Light advocates battling for the castle that many had called home for seven years. Left in ruins…_

"Oh Merlin, there's a picture," Hermione said, hand covering her mouth.

The DA Core, who were just sitting down for dinner, stood and crowded around Hermione.

"No, that can't be Hogwarts," Ginny said.

"Let me see that," Harry said, taking the paper, studying the picture inlaid in the article towards the bottom.

Draco looked over his shoulder. "It can't be."

"No, it is," Luna said, tilting her head to the side. "Here's the lake. I wonder how the giant squid has fared."

Hermione squinted, taking the paper back from Harry. "But…"

Neville looked out the kitchen window, where Hogwarts still stood as whole as ever. He glanced at the picture, darkness hovering over crumbled stone and mortar, before looking out the window again. "That's not possible," he said, pointing to the window.

"This house isn't possible," Ginny said.

Hermione sighed and sat down. "Hey, listen to this…"

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Headmistress in the absence of Albus Dumbledore, stood her ground for four days against the Deatheaters. Refusing to leave the castle, she took shelter in the castle's remains with her fellow professors, fighting the constant flux of Deatheaters. Early this morning, the battle came to an end, McGonagall fleeing…_

"Why do I feel like we should have stayed?" Harry asked miserably.

"If we had stayed, we would have died, Potter," Draco said, looking at him across the table. "Then where would we have been?"

"You don't know that."

"No, but it was a very strong possibility," he said.

"Sometimes, the best strategy in battle is to retreat," Ron said. "Fight or flight…we fought and then when it was time to go, so we got out of there."

Harry sighed, not responding to either of them, instead looking at Hermione. "What else does it say?"

"Umm…" she hummed, perusing the paper. "…much of the same…a bit about Dumbledore and, well, that's depressing…"

"Read it," Draco requested.

"It's just the ending statements," she said, but obliged his request.

_…and in the wake of recent developments, the fall of Hogwarts stands as a deep wound in the resolve of The Light. Hogwarts had always been a symbolic fortress, impenetrable by any who weren't welcome. The thought of it being controlled by You-Know-Who was unperceivable, and it brings difficult thoughts with it. If Hogwarts can buckle under The Dark's weight, then what chance do the rest of us have?_

"That's a happy thought," Ron mumbled, poking at his dinner, his fork toying with half-eaten chicken pie.

The DA Core murmured their agreements, their dinner cast in silence, until Harry spoke up, his voice strong.

"But we can't think like that," he said. "Just because Hogwarts has fallen, doesn't mean that there is no hope."

They were quiet.

"There _is_ hope. Just the fact that we're all alive and still together is hope in itself."

Neville nodded. "Yeah," he said, a smile growing on his face. "Plus, we're the DA Core."

Ron grinned. "We're the DA Core."

"The DA Core," Ginny echoed.

"We can stand against anything," Draco said.

"As long as we're together," Hermione added.

"Nobody can split us up," Luna finished. "We're one and the same, by ourselves and all together."

"We're one and the same, by ourselves and all together," Neville said, banging his fist on the table.

Harry followed his action, his voice copying Neville's words. Hermione, Draco, Ron, Ginny, and lastly, Luna said the words, the words that acted in such a way that was similar to an oath. A spark of energy filled the kitchen, the DA Core filled with surging warmth as they repeated the words. Faces shone in the light, the echoing words resonating in their minds. They were the DA Core, nothing could take them down, not while they had each other.

* * *

"Tomorrow's Christmas, you know?" Ginny said later that night after dinner had been eaten and cleaned up.

They sat in the sitting room, a fire crackling in the fireplace.

"It surely doesn't feel like it," Neville said, glancing out the window, the yard just as dreary, though the ghost hadn't shown itself in days.

"I miss how the castle is decorated during the Holidays," Ginny said wistfully. "…and the feast."

"Mmm, yeah, I'll miss the feast too," Ron said.

"Figures," Draco sneered playfully. "All you are is a stomach."

"Oi, I'm more than that!" Ron balked.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I've got some intestines somewhere here," he answered, patting his belly before breaking out in laughter.

After a good session of laughter, the DA Core quieted down, the realization that there just might not ever be another Hogwarts Christmas settling in their minds.

"I miss Mum," Ginny said next.

"And Dad," Ron added.

"And Charlie…"

"Bill…"

"…and, yeah, I'll even say it, Fred and George too," Ginny said.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "I don't know if I'd go that far," he said, only half serious.

"I wonder what they're doing right now…"

"I hope they're all ok."

"Even Percy?"

A moment of silence…

"Yeah, even Percy…"

Hermione sighed, wondering about her own parents as well. She leaned her head against Draco's shoulder.

_**At least this Christmas will be better than last year**_, he thought.

_**Hey, don't think about that.**_

_**I was just saying…**_

_**Still, you're not aloud to have those thoughts.**_

_**I suppose I'll refrain just for you. But on a different note, you suppose we should do something special tomorrow? As in all of us?**_

Hermione glanced up at him. _**It wouldn't be a bad idea. Any ideas? Or shall I share with the others?**_

_**I've got nothing…**_

Sitting up, Hermione called everybody's attention, requesting any and all ideas in regards to tomorrow.

"A feast, definitely a feast," Ron said.

"Duly noted, Weasley," Draco said.

"I think we can pull off a feast," Hermione said. "What else?"

"Decorations," Luna spoke up, lounging in the corner of one of the couches, her feet in Neville's lap. "We'll need decorations."

"Presents would be out of the question," Harry said, "considering everything I got you lot is currently at Hogwarts."

"…or what's left of it," Draco added. "Same goes for me."

"Right, nix the presents," Hermione said, making a checkmark in the air as if crossing presents off on an imaginary list.

"Hot chocolate in the morning," Ginny said. "Mum always makes hot chocolate."

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

"How about a tree?" Hermione suggested, gesturing to the corner where the perch stood by itself. "We could put it over there. Anybody know any spells to conjure a fir tree?"

Collectively, they shook their heads.

"Hmm, I might be able to do a little research…"

_**But that would take all night**_, Draco said.

"…but that would take a while," she said, giving Draco a look.

He merely grinned innocently.

"What if we were to transfigure something?" Neville suggested. "There's that fern in the study."

Hermione tapped her wand against her bottom lip. "I think that would work."

"I'll go get it," Neville said, running out of the room.

With a focus in mind, the DA Core set about decorating the house for Christmas, their minds temporarily diverted from the harsher facts of life.

Neville returned with the potted fern, Hermione taking it, turning it this way and that. After instructing that the perch needed to be moved, she set the plant down on the floor and waved her wand. The squat, green plant grew and morphed into a tall, dark-green fir tree with a richly packed set of branches the perfect shape for ornaments. With a tree, there was only one thing the DA Core could do. Strings of fairy lights sprung from Draco's wand, wrapping around the tree as Ron, Ginny, and Luna conjured large baubles to hang on the branches.

Neville and Harry, spotting an old record player on a shelf beside the fireplace, set about shuffling through the collection of albums ordered haphazardly beside the player. After a brief murmured conversation, their heads bowed as they flipped through the records, gentle, soulful music spilled into the room. The beginning stanzas of, _I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas_, added atmosphere to their Christmas cheer.

Hermione looked over from the window where her wand had been forming ice crystal patterns on the window. "Good touch," she said, smiling.

"I thought so," Harry replied.

"This makes me feel happy," Ginny said, standing back to admire their work in progress.

Luna smiled, her wand creating a green and red paper chain that wound itself messily around the tree.

Draco moved to stand behind Hermione, wrapping his arms around her.

_**How's your wing, love?**_

_**Almost healed**_, he answered, resting his chin on her shoulder. _**Have I told you that I love you?**_

_**Many times, but I never get tired of hearing it.**_

_**I love you.**_

She turned around, encircling her arms around his neck. _**I love you too**_, she said, kissing him.

* * *

The night grew late, the hours ticking by one by one, the DA Core in a content state as they finished preparing for the next morning. Flopping back down onto the couches afterwards, they chatted quietly into the night. Gradually, they turned in until all that was left in the sitting room was the handsomely adorned Christmas tree, the frosted windows, and the crackling fire setting everything aglow. It was then, and only then, that a flash of fire appeared in the center of the room. A magnificent red and gold bird gave a quiet, trilling cry, landing on the perch, a thickly rolled parchment tied to its leg.


	56. Suus Permaneo Vota

**Author's Note** – And, yet, another chapter. I really hope to get this finished by the end of Summer. If not, then definitely by October or November. Parts of this chapter I like, and those parts are rather interesting. Enjoy!

**Another Note** – The chapter title means, "His Last Wishes," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Six**

"Suus Permaneo Vota"

* * *

Christmas morning dawned dark and cold, though the DA Core had no way of knowing considering the views out their windows. Neville woke first, shrugging on a robe before shuffling out of the tan bedroom he shared with Draco. After a trip to the loo, he quietly entered the sitting room, the tree twinkling softly. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he turned to enter the kitchen when a noise coming from the corner of the room caught his attention. Turning, he froze, a red and gold bird sitting upon the rod-iron perch, preening itself. It pointed one of its golden eyes at Neville, stepping decorously along the perch, gesturing to the rolled parchment attached to its leg. Opening it's golden beak, the bird sang a few notes.

Frowning, Neville hesitated before moving backwards into the hallway, returning to his bedroom. Opening the door, he walked directly to Draco's bed.

"Draco, wake up," he said, pushing on the blond boy's shoulder.

Draco rolled over, grumbling softly.

Neville shook his shoulder. "Come on, wake up."

"Go 'way," he replied, swatting at Neville's hand.

"There's something you should see," he said.

Groaning, Draco turned on his back, glaring up at Neville. "What is it, Longbottom?" he asked.

"There's a bird in the sitting room," he explained.

Draco's expression turned cold. "You woke me up to tell me the morning post has arrived?" he asked.

Neville gulped. "It's not the morning post," he said. "I think you should come and see."

Making a great display of sighing before throwing off his covers, Draco sat up. "Fine," he said. "But if it's the bloody post owl, I'm hexing you." Grabbing a sweater, he wrenched open the door.

Neville followed Draco down the hallway. "It was just sitting there when I woke up this morning," he explained as they entered the sitting room. "I think it's a phoenix."

"I doubt it's a phoe…" Mid-sentence, Draco paused, staring at the bird. "Ok, so it's a phoenix."

"See? Where do you think it came from?"

_**You awake?**_

Hermione stirred in his mind. _**Mmm, I am now. What is it?**_

_**Dumbledore had a phoenix, right?**_

_**Yes, why?**_

Neville stared at Draco oddly before waving a hand in front of his face.

"What are you doing?" Draco snapped, smacking at Neville's hand. "I was talking to Hermione."

"Oh, right," he said, looking off to the side, trying not to appear embarrassed.

Draco rolled his eyes. _**Just come here. Longbottom and I found something.**_

_**Alright, just give me a moment.**_

Barely five minutes later, Hermione was running her hand over the phoenix's head, the bird trilling and bumping up into her touch. "This is definitely Fawkes. I wonder how he got here," she said, combing through his feathers. "And what's this?" Hermione reached for the scrolled parchment, removing it from Fawkes' leg.

"Not sure," Draco said, poking his head over her shoulder as she unrolled the large sheet of parchment.

Hermione gasped.

"What is it?" Neville asked.

"We need to wake everybody else," she said, glancing up excitedly. "This is Dumbledore's will."

* * *

The DA Core, still in their pajamas, sat themselves around the coffee table. A sense of excitement enlivened the air, Hermione holding Dumbledore's will.

"Well, come on, woman, read it!" Draco demanded.

She eyed him sternly before clearing her throat and unrolling the will.

_**The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore**_

_**Private Amendment**_

_As stated in this parchment and sworn by the seal stamped at its close, this Will instates Albus Dumbledore's last wishes. Standing as a Private Amendment, those stated within are granted sole ownership of any articles left to them without the Ministry of Magic's intervention, inspection, confiscation, or any other means that would counteract that which is stated within this Will…_

"That's kind of interesting," Ginny said. "I didn't know Private Amendments were possible."

"They are," Draco answered. "If you don't want the Ministry meddling."

"What else does it say, Hermione?" Luna asked.

"Alright, there's more legal tender," she said, scanning the reams of parchment spilling from her hands. "Ah hah, here we go." Grinning, she shook out a few sheets of parchment.

_I had always said that death was the next greatest adventure. My friends, if you are reading this, then my adventure is upon me. Considering the state of affairs the Wizarding World was in whence I began writing this, I believe it would be safe to assume that the second war has begun. For this I apologize. A great deal of suffering and pain will be left in the wake of my death. However, you, the DA Core, are the key to hope. Yes, there is hope, and most certainly in you seven. I have a great faith that you can accomplish what I was unable to achieve. In this Will, I leave you seven all that is required. Use it wisely and bring down the darkness, my friends._

_To Harry James Potter, I leave…_

"He left us things?" Hermione said incredulously, eyes boggling at Dumbledore's will.

"That tends to be what a will is, Hermione," Draco said dryly.

"But, I just…it never occurred to me," she said, turning red.

Draco chuckled in her head.

"Come on, Hermione, get on with it," Ron said impatiently.

Giving him a scolding glare, she returned to the will at hand.

_To Harry James Potter, I leave the snitch caught during your first quidditch match. You will find the enchantments cast upon a snitch most interesting, particularly when in regards to a snitch's flesh memory. Not only that, Mr. Potter, but a snitch can as well be a nifty hiding place._

"Flesh memory?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

At the same moment, the air in front of Harry shimmered and popped, a golden snitch dropping onto the coffee table.

"A snitch remembers the first person to touch it," Ron explained as Harry picked up the snitch. "It keeps people from fighting about who caught it first."

Fluttering, the snitch hummed in Harry's fingers.

"Potter, wasn't that the snitch you swallowed?" Draco asked.

Harry grinned. "Yeah," he said fondly, holding the snitch up as he inspected it. "Hey, there's something written on here." Squinting, he held the snitch about a hand's width from his face. "'I open at the close,'" he read.

"I wonder what that means," Ginny said.

"Well, obviously, it opens," Hermione said. "And I'd be willing to bet that Dumbledore hid something in there."

"How so?" Ron asked.

"It says so in the will," Draco explained for her, quoting Dumbledore's will. "…_a snitch can be a nifty hiding place…_"

Harry held the snitch up to his ear, shaking it experimentally as if it were a Christmas gift. "I don't hear anything," he said, shrugging.

Draco snorted, nudging Hermione. "Go on, keep reading."

_To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave a small collection of books. May my affinity for sweets unlock their secrets._

Hermione's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline as four stacked books popped into existence in front of her. Setting the will down, she reached forward, dragging them towards her.

"_An Alphabetical Inquiry into Jams, Jellies, and Preserves_," she read, scanning the title of the first book.

In her mind, Draco laughed. _**Figures he'd give you books.**_

Glaring at him, she set aside the first book and grabbed the second, reading the title for all to hear. "_Knitting Patterns of the Middle Ages._" The third book was titled: "_Tenpin Bowling: An Anthology._" Hermione got a look at the cover of the fourth, "_Alfred Wittaker's Extensive Chamber Music Collection of 1934_," and flipped through it quickly, the book filled with printed sheet music of a highly complicated nature.

"Dumbledore had a strange taste in books," Harry said, picking up _An Alphabetical Inquiry into Jams, Jellies, and Preserves._ "Tomato jam? Eugh," he said. "Who thinks up these things?"

Hermione shrugged. "Dumbledore always had an eccentric taste," she said.

"I wonder what their secret is," Luna wondered softly.

"Something to do with candy," Harry said, glancing at the will.

It remained a mystery for the moment, Hermione returning to the will.

_To Draco Malfoy, I leave in your possession the house in which you currently reside. It is named, "Haven," and it is the most secure location due to the inability to plot that which doesn't physically exist all together. Enjoy the views, and remember: "Not here nor there, but everywhere," is a handy phrase to regain entry into the house on the off chance that you found yourself outside its walls._

_**He left you a house?**_

"He left me a house?" Draco echoed out loud, his eyes popping out of his face.

"Did he really?" Ron asked.

Draco nodded as he scanned the portion of Dumbledore's will that pertained to him. "The old man actually left me something," he said as if he almost didn't believe what was written right in front of his eyes.

"He left all of us something," Hermione said, finger trailing down the length of parchment, each of their names mentioned.

"Haven," Luna muttered wistfully. "It's a rather fitting name."

"What do you suppose he means by, '…_the inability to plot that which doesn't physically exist all together_…'?" Neville asked.

"Well, we know that the house is impossible to find," Ginny said. "At least we'll be safe here."

"We'll need somewhere to go during this war, somewhere where we can create our battle plans," Harry said. "He wants us to keep fighting."

The DA Core murmured their agreements.

"Wait, technically, this is Draco's house," Hermione said, glancing at her mate. "I think we should ask him."

They paused, eyes on Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Where else would we go?"

And, thus, it was decided, Draco handing the will back to Hermione.

_To Ginevra Molly Weasley, I leave you my wand…_

The DA Core gasped.

"His wand?" Ginny squeaked.

_…use it wisely and remember that the greater good will be fulfilled with this wand in another's hand._

Before Ginny, a long, slender wand appeared, clattering onto the table. She reached down, picked it up, and gave it a wave.

"_Lumos_," she cast, light a few shades too-dim coming from the end of the wand. She frowned. "_Nox_." Glancing around for a moment, she pointed the wand at the Christmas tree. "_Accio ornament_." Slowly, one of the shining baubles floated into Ginny's hand, wobbling and wavering through the sitting room.

"They always said that the wand chooses the wizard…er, or witch," Neville said. "I've got my dad's old wand, and it's never worked quite right for me."

Ginny nodded, but smiled. "It's better than nothing," she said. "And at least I've got a wand now."

Harry grinned at her, bumping his shoulder against hers. "We'll get you one that works properly when all of this is over," he said. "I promise."

"Oi, what's the will say about me?" Ron spoke up, looking at Hermione.

Hermione glanced at him and regarded the parchment.

_To Ron Bilius Weasley, I leave you with Riddle's diary, the first destroyed of seven._

Ron shied away violently as a frayed, black-covered diary plunked onto the table. A great hole had been punctured in the center of the book. Harry, Ron, and Hermione remembered distinctly what had caused the hole and the circumstances requiring such an act.

"Riddle's diary?!" Ron sneered at the diary.

Ginny drew her legs up onto the couch, frowning.

"I don't understand," Draco said, glancing about.

"Riddle…that was Vold-"

"Yeah, I know Voldemort's real name, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Will you let me speak?"

"You are speaking."

_**Hey! Stop being a prat.**_

_**I'm not.**_

_**You wanna bet?**_

Hermione turned to Draco, raising her eyebrows, challenging him.

_**Oh, fine…**_

"Go on Harry," Hermione said, Draco submitting defeat by crossing his arms and quietly sulking.

Harry explained about the diary, how it had once belonged to Tom Riddle, and how a chunk of him had remained within its pages. Draco shuddered, commenting on the disturbing aspects of Voldemort infusing himself into a diary and the subsequent two-way communication it created.

"I would have pitched it into the fireplace the first chance I got," he said.

Ginny snorted. "You know your father gave it to me," she said. "Slipped it into my cauldron at Flourish and Blotts before my first year."

"Figures," he muttered, something registering from his memory. "Wait, I was there, wasn't I?"

"You were," Harry said. "I kept glaring at you, waiting for you to do something so I could hex you. You were such a prat back then."

"Back then?" Hermione said playfully. "He's still a prat." Cheekily, she grinned up at the blond boy.

Quietly, he growled. _**Watch what you say, Granger. You just might regret it someday.**_

_**Is that a threat? Because if it is, you've got another thing coming your way, Malfoy. **_She put an emphasis on his last name, raising her eyebrows.

They stared each other down for a moment before diverting their attentions.

"It's weird," Ginny said, continuing on. "Thinking about what our lives were like back then."

"I would never have thought we'd all be together now," Luna said. "But then again, Daddy always said that life was unpredictable."

"That's true," Draco said wryly, glancing at Hermione.

Hermione returned his look with a fleeting one of her own.

_To Neville Longbottom, I leave you my Sorting Hat with the intent of you gathering up all your courage when things seem most dire and finish things once and for all. I wish you luck._

The ratty old Sorting Hat popped onto the table. Neville reached out to grab it, the DA Core almost hold their breaths, expecting the hat to open its tear of a mouth and begin speaking. Although it didn't, Neville turned the hat around in his hands, studying it with a crease between his brows.

"What are you supposed to do with that?" Draco asked, nodding at the hat.

"Dunno," he responded.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Hermione said. "Dumbledore obviously intended you to do something with the hat."

Neville nodded.

Ron smirked. "Whatever _that_ is…"

Hermione balked at him.

"He could always wear it," Draco laughed.

The DA Core roared, Hermione bopping Draco on the head with one of her books.

_To Luna Lovegood, I leave a collection of my own memories, each having a time and place in which it is to be viewed._

To quiet sounds of awe, six small, stoppered vials materialized. Luna picked up the one closest to her.

"_Once the Wand Has Been Claimed_," she read from the vial, the words scripted in the neatly slanted handwriting of Albus Dumbledore. "How interesting."

The other five memories were labeled in a similar, scripted manner, instructions such as, '_After You Have Gotten the Locket,_', '_Not Before the Books Are Decharmed and Not After the Silver Doe Has Made a Visit_,' and, '_When the First Five Have Been Destroyed,_' perplexing the DA Core.

"Five what?" Ron asked. "What are we supposed to do?"

"A locket?" Harry said next, scratching an itch on the side of his head.

Luna picked up a vial sitting next to one labeled, '_At the Last Possible Moment,_" and turned it to read the writing. "_Right Now_," she read. "We're to watch this one right now."

"Anybody have a pensieve?" Harry asked, half laughing.

"There's one in the study," Luna said.

Neville nodded. "It's in the corner cabinet that the fern was sitting on. I saw it yesterday."

* * *

In the study, surrounded by books, the DA Core carefully extricated the stone pensieve from the glass-cased, wooden cabinet, setting it onto the desk. Made of a dark stone, tiny Celtic crosses were carved into the inner rim. Luna held the vial, pulling out the stopper.

She glanced around at the DA Core. "Shall we see, then?" she asked before tipping the vial, the memory slipping out and into the pensieve like a stream of water.

Taking a collective deep breath, the DA Core shared one last glance before stepping forward, dipping their faces into the stone basin.

* * *

They landed roughly in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore sat at his desk, the window behind him opened to allow a warm breeze, reading the Daily Prophet. Hermione quietly tip-toed behind the headmaster, craning her neck to see the date on the paper, glancing down at him as if she thought he would sense her presence.

_**You're in his memory, Hermione, he can't see you**_, Draco said dryly.

She paused, straightening up to glare at him. _**I **__knew__** that**_, she responded, though she dropped the act just as quickly.

Draco smirked.

"June 28th, 1996," she read aloud. "End of last summer."

The fireplace flared green suddenly, Dumbledore dropping the paper and jumping to his feet. He strode over to the fire as if he were impatiently anticipating a visitor. Tumbling out of the fireplace, a black-clad figure landed almost violently upon the Headmaster's carpet. Coughing roughly, he shook off his hood, revealing a hook-nosed face and curtains of stringy, black hair.

"_Snape_," Harry growled, acting as if he wanted to lunge forward.

Ron grabbed his sleeve, Ginny glancing at Harry. A murderous glint passed through the eyes of the DA Core.

"Are you alright, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, hauling the younger man up with more strength than his aged appearance would let on.

The Potions Master wrenched his arm out of the headmaster's grasp. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but instead collapsed into one of the chairs facing Dumbledore's desk. A great groan escaped his chest.

"Tea, then?" Dumbledore offered, a tea set appearing at the wave of his hand.

Snape nodded wearily, the headmaster pouring a light brown liquid into one of the cups, handing it to Snape. Taking it, the younger man reached into his robes, extracting a vial, uncorking it, and poured the potion into the cup.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

"Pain relieving potion," Draco, Hermione, and Ginny said at the same time.

Dumbledore surveyed Snape's actions, sadness in his eyes. "It pains me to see you like this, my boy," he said.

Snape glowered, drinking down his doctored tea.

The headmaster leaned forward. "Tell me, what did Tom want this time?"

"Why do you insist on calling him by his birth-given name?" Snape asked instead. "You know it only angers him."

"It is his name, and thus I'll refer to him by it," Dumbledore answered. "How else would you suggest I address him?"

Snape shook his bowed head. "You're a fool, Albus," he said. "Someday you'll come to realize that your efforts are only in vain."

"Never is a fight against evil in vain," Dumbledore said gravely.

"He has given me a mission," he said, looking up at the old man.

"Ah, and what task does Tom desire you to do?" he asked.

Snape turned his head to the side, his eyes staring off at the spot where the DA Core stood. When he turned back to Dumbledore, his face was stricken with emotion. "You won't care for it," he said.

"I find that I hardly ever do," the headmaster answered.

Sighing, the Potions Master folded his hands in his lap. "The Dark Lord is doubting my loyalty, Albus. He claims that I have fallen under your charm, that my heart is no longer with him," he said. "He has requested that I prove to him that I am still loyal to the Dark."

"Has he said how he wishes you to demonstrate your loyalty?"

"Yes."

"And how?"

Snape pressed his lips together, his hands gripping his robes.

"Severus…"

"I am to kill you," he said quietly. "At my own wandpoint, I am to kill you."

Dumbledore lowered his head as if in thought. "And how long has he given you to complete this task?" he asked.

"End of the school year," he said. "But I expect he wishes sooner."

The headmaster was silent.

"There must be a way around this," Snape said. "The Potter boy, how soon until he's ready?"

The DA Core exchanged glances, Harry crossing his arms uncomfortably.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, steepling his fingers. "Far from it. There is much I must show him," he said. "He knows so little."

"What about the DA Core?"

"That, my boy, is a point to our side," Dumbledore said. "They will accomplish much greatness." He turned sad. "But I fear without my aid. The Order…the Order must be alerted." Dumbledore stood suddenly. "I must contact…"

"Albus!" Snape cried. "You surely can't be going along with this? Think of the implications! You're the leader of The Light. Without you, everything will crumble."

Dumbledore looked down at Snape, his fingers resting on his desk. "I am an old man, Severus," he said. "The fates have granted me my time, of which I have used. Every living being must die, my dear boy." He smiled gently. "And The Light will persevere without me, of that I am certain."

"But…"

"My time has arrived," he said. "Now, we must not haste; there is much I must do before my fateful demise."

The DA Core were thrown out of the memory, landing on the study floor in a heap. Hastily, they untangled themselves, getting to their feet.

"That bastard!" Harry shouted, fists clenched at his sides.

Draco glanced over. "Potter, are you an idiot or didn't you just see that Snape isn't…"

"No, not Snape, Dumbledore," he said, glaring at Draco.

"He knew he was going to die," Hermione said.

"He gave up," Harry continued on. "He bloody gave up on everything."

"Maybe he had no choice," Ginny said.

"Of course he had a choice."

"He said it himself, Harry, it was his time. I don't like it as much as you do, but what's done is done," Neville said quietly.

Crossing his arms, Harry glowered unhappily. The DA Core, sharing quite a similar bunch of emotions, sighed. Suddenly, everything they had thought to be so was now the exact opposite.


	57. A Fabula quod Alius Memoria

**Author's Note – **Ahoy hoy! Before we begin here, I've got two announcements. First, updates after this one are going to slow down, slow way down. I start school in two weeks, enough said. Second, there are references in this chapter to _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_, and not only _The Three Brothers _but some of the other tales as well. You might want to brush up on those. The Harry Potter Lexicon is a handy website, in my humble opinion.

**Another Note** – The title means, "A Story and Another Memory," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** – I own nothing except the Ignius…and Draco. Ok, ok, not Draco, but it's a nice dream.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Seven**

"A Fabula quod Alius Memoria"

* * *

Christmas passed for the DA Core, the seven of them trying to make the most out of the holiday. The day after, the Christmas tree was removed of its adornment and returned to its previous existence as a fern in the study. With the tree seemed to go the holiday cheer the DA Core had felt. Though the walls of Haven kept them safe, they had no way of gauging the state of the Wizarding World, barring the Daily Prophet, though one always knew the sort of drivel that got run through the editors. The double blow of Dumbledore's death and the fall of Hogwarts remained heavily on their hearts. First Dumbledore, and then Hogwarts, they had thought. What would come next? The Ministry?

"It's corrupted as is," Ginny had guffawed one night. "Might be to its benefit for it to crumble."

It really wasn't a matter of if, but a judgment of when the Ministry would fall. They felt it as assuredly as they felt their own hearts beating. Not knowing what was going on outside made them nervous; nervous, cranky, and restless. And something was definitely happening, that they knew. The day after Christmas, a Thursday, the Daily Prophet arrived during breakfast through the kitchen window, as was usual. That night during dinner, the DA Core had anticipated the evening edition, though none had come.

"Maybe the owl got lost," Ron had said, reaching over to grab a roll.

"It hasn't gotten lost all week," Hermione had said.

"It happens sometimes, though," Ginny responded.

"Gran's owl, Mildred, always gets lost," Neville said. "Even when she's flying to places she's been a thousand times."

"And I'm sure this house is difficult to find," Draco said.

Nothing was thought of the missing newspaper, even as the next morning brought no news. When the Daily Prophet failed to show that evening, the DA Core exchanged glances, knowing something was amiss. Even in the worst of times the Daily Prophet had loyally served the Wizarding World their daily dose of slightly corrupted information.

However, there was nothing they could do but wait, wait for whatever was coming. And, unfortunately, waiting brought upon boredom.

"There is nothing to do in this God damned house!" Harry roared Sunday afternoon.

"I agree," Draco said, collapsing into one of the study's chairs. His hand ran over the black leather, his eyes following his finger's path. "I swear I'm going crazy."

Hermione, who had been sitting at the desk trying to unlock the secrets of the books Dumbledore had left her, spun around, the wheels on the old wooden chair squeaking. "Why don't you two play a game of chess?"

"Weasley just beat me seven times," Draco said.

"I don't want to play chess." Harry glanced at Hermione.

"Well, what's Neville doing?" she asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Luna?"

"Talking to one of the portraits in the bedroom," Draco answered.

"Ginny?"

"Napping."

"Ron?"

"Playing chess against himself," Harry said.

"Is that possible?" Draco asked, glancing over at him.

"Probably not," Harry said.

Hermione sighed through her nose, swiveling back around.

Getting up, Draco dragged his chair over to her. "Figured them out yet?" he asked, paging through one of the books.

"No, not yet," she said, smiling at him. "But I will."

"_Ten Pin Bowling – An Anthology_," he read. "What's bowling?"

"Muggle sport," Harry answered.

"It's a sport where you use a heavy ball to knock down as many pins as you can," she explained further. "And I think it's mostly a Muggle sport. I read somewhere that there used to be a wizard version."

Harry, who had draped himself over the chair's arms, twirled his wand in his fingers. "I'm hungry," he said.

"You just had lunch," Hermione answered.

Draco snorted. "Then go eat something, Potter."

"You get something for me," Harry said lazily, leaning his head back, staring up at the cabinet that held the pensieve.

"What am I? Your house-elf?" Draco balked, twisting around to glare at Harry. "Go get your own bloody food."

"Jeez, sorry I asked."

"As you should be," Draco stated, sticking his nose in the air.

Hermione jabbed him in the ribs.

_**Prat**_, she thought.

_**What? He's asking me to be his servant. I do not fetch other people food.**_

_**What about me?**_ She rotated back and forth in the chair, biting her lip.

He glanced down. _**I believe you have legs, my love.**_ Draco smirked.

Hermione grinned. _**Pretty please?**_ She ran her bare foot up his leg to his calf as she batted her eyelashes.

Draco pressed his lips together, widening his eyes at her, the expression silly. _**No!**_

She leaned forward, walking her fingers up his chest. _**Pretty pretty please with fudge on top?**_

Draco glanced downwards, cheeks flushing. Hermione grinned even more.

"Oi, knock that off!" Harry suddenly said, hauling himself out of the chair. "At least wait until I'm out of the room." He stalked towards the door. "Merlin, those two."

Hermione cracked, gripping her belly as she giggled. Draco found amusement in Harry's exit as well, dropping his head backwards, laughing.

_**Ok, fine, I'll get you something**_, he then said. "What do you want?"

"A handful of sherbet lemons, please?" she asked sweetly. "There's a bowl on the kitchen counter."

_**The things I do for you**_, he murmured.

Smiling, he kissed her on the top of her curly-haired head and walked out of the room.

Watching as he left, her eyes trailing his figure, she turned back to the desk. Setting her eyes back upon _An Alphabetical Inquiry into Jams, Jellies, and Preserves_, her wand in hand, Hermione froze. The book which previously sat upon the desk no longer was in front of her. Instead, an old, brown covered book had taken its place. Reaching over, she carefully picked it up, running her hand over the cracked leather binding. In faded ink, a different title was scrawled across the cover.

_The Tales of Beedle the Bard_

With great care, she opened the book, flipping through several pages, the parchment yellowed and cracking along the edges, a sign of age. She most certainly had unlocked the secret of this particular book, the cover and content of which were enchanted to deceive the reader.

"Had it been something I said?" she muttered to herself. "Or was it something I had done?"

"What'd you do?" Draco asked, reentering the room. He spotted the book in her hands. "Where'd you get that?" Gently, he took it from her. "Beedle the Bard, huh? I remember these from when I was a kid. Mother used to read them to me."

She looked up at him. "It was the book on jams and jellies. I must have said or done something," she said. "But I don't know what."

Raising his eyebrows in interest, he sat back down, outstretching his hand. "Sherbet lemon?" he asked.

"Thanks," she grinned, opening her hand as he dropped a dozen yellow candies into her palm. "Whoa, whoa…" Her eyes bulged, looking at the book.

The cover had reverted back to displaying a collection of jarred jams, jellies, and preserves.

"How?" Draco uttered, frowning.

Hermione smiled, an idea dawning on her features. "Sherbet lemons," she stated clearly.

In the blink of an eye, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ appeared.

Laughing, Hermione looked at Draco. "I figured it out!"

Leaning over, he kissed her.

"Do you two ever stop?!"

Draco and Hermione looked up.

Harry stood in the doorway with Neville and Ginny, the latter two covering their mouths in an effort to not laugh. Whether that was at Harry or Draco and Hermione, nobody quite knew.

"Why don't you just close your eyes then, Potter?" Draco suggested.

"And what? Walk around here with my eyes closed all the time?"

Draco smirked. "It'd be entertainment," he said. "We'll take bets on how many walls you can walk into over the course of a day."

Hermione elbowed him. _**Oh, stop it.**_

_**It's just too easy.**_

_**I'm not denying that fact.**_

_**Then what are you getting at, love?**_

_**Just take pity on him.**_

_**Pity?**_

_**Yes, he's not as witty as you are.**_

Sputtering, Draco snorted and laughed.

"I know you two are talking about me," Harry said, glowering.

Hermione smiled innocently at Harry. Draco, who had begun to turn red, looked off in the other direction.

"I'm not taking this," Harry said moodily, turning to walk away.

"Oi, Potter," Draco said, sitting up. "Stop being so dramatic."

"Dramatic?!" he asked incredulously. "I am not dramatic."

Draco snorted. "You wanna bet?"

Hermione placed a hand on Draco's arm. "Harry, we mean nothing by it," she said with an easy smile, placating her friend.

"And, anyways, Hermione has something to show everybody."

"What's that?" Neville asked, stepping fully into the room.

Ginny glanced down at the desk. "_The Tales of Beedle the Bard_," she read. "Where'd you get that?"

Hermione grinned. "Watch."

She demonstrated the secret to revealing the true nature of the book several times, the book winking back and forth between one about jam and another filled with Wizarding fairy tales.

"Neat. Do you think the other books have candy as passwords?" Ginny asked.

Harry, who had taken the book, looked at the cover. "Who was Beedle the Bard?"

"I would assume so," Hermione said to Ginny before turning to Harry. "And Beedle the Bard was a famous author of fairy tales for wizarding children."

"This one's got a bookmark," Neville said, reaching out to the book where a small slip of paper was wedged between two pages towards the end of the book.

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione flipped the book open to where it had been marked. The slip of paper fluttered to the ground. "_The Tale of the Three Brothers_," she read.

Ginny, who had stooped down to pick up the scrap of parchment, straightened back up. "It says, 'read me,'" she said, handing the parchment to Hermione.

They exchanged glances.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess we read it then."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, there's nothing better to do."

* * *

They congregated in the sitting room, that particular room having become their central meeting place.

"I've always enjoyed a good storytelling," Luna said, sitting down. "My mum was the best storyteller I'd ever met…when she was alive, of course. And the Three Brothers has always been my favorite. Daddy says the hallows are still out there."

"Lovegood, that's only a myth," Draco said.

"It's only a myth if you think it's a myth," she responded.

"Gran read them to me," Neville said, holding Luna's hand.

Hermione settled into one of the chairs set before the fire, turning it around to face the rest of the group.

"Reminds me of when we were little and mum would read to us before bed," Ron said, glancing at Ginny.

"Except we don't have Fred and George popping in every two minutes," she responded.

"Remember the time they took mum's old cauldron and banged it against the hallway floor?" he said. "And it made a clanging noise just…"

"…like the Hopping Pot?" Ginny said.

"Yeah," he said almost fondly. "That was funny."

"Mum didn't seem to think so."

"I wonder why…"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You screamed like a banshee," she said dryly.

"I did not! And I was like…six," he claimed.

"You were nine."

Draco laughed, Ron shouting a curse at him. That, of course, set off an argument, Harry hopping in at Ron's defense. Neville, never one to be a fan of conflict, tried to settle the dispute, though with no success. After a few wand draws and one deflected hex, Harry, Ron, and Draco settled back down.

"You three finished?" Hermione asked dryly.

Ginny, who sat beside Harry, turned to him, an expression of utmost attitude set across her features.

"Yes," Draco said, adjusting his clothing.

Harry and Ron glowered but nodded.

Sparing them a glance, Hermione shifted, opening the book to the story. "There were once three brothers…"

* * *

Now knowing the secret to Dumbledore's books, Hermione quickly unlocked the other three in almost no time at all. With _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ still ringing in the DA Core's heads, Hermione ran to the study and grabbed the books. Eyes alight with anticipation, she set the books upon her lap and began shouting out various Wizarding candies, her friends adding in their own sweet ideas. Ice Mice turned _Alfred Wittaker's Extensive Chamber Music Collection of 1934_ into _Apparition for the Independent Study_.

"That's right, we were supposed to learn how to apparate this year," Hermione said.

"We get to learn it on our own? Wicked," Ron added, leaning forward in his seat. "I'll have one up on Fred and George."

Ginny grinned beside Harry. "And I get to start a year early," she said.

Luna smiled serenely. "As will I."

"I just hope I don't splinch myself." Neville grimaced.

Draco smirked. "Not to worry, Longbottom. We'll put you back together again," he said, clapping Neville on the shoulder.

An embarrassing blush crept up Neville's cheeks.

_Tenpin Bowling: An Anthology_, with a muttered, "cockroach clusters," changed into being _The Inner Mind: A Guide to Occlumency and Legilimency_. Lastly, the DA Core looked at the final book, _Knitting Patterns of the Middle Ages_.

"Try Bertie Bott's," Ron said, the book not changing.

"Fizzing Whizbees," Ginny tried.

"Chocolate Frogs."

"Blood Pops?" Neville asked the book hopefully.

"Fudge Flies."

"Jelly Slugs."

"Pepper Imps."

"Peppermint Humbugs."

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, I know," she said. "How about Acid Pops?"

With a noiseless pop, the book's cover blurred, clearing up to reveal it's new identity.

"_Secrets of the Darkest Art_," she read.

Draco frowned. "Can I see it, Hermione?"

She handed it over, Draco flipping it open, scanning a few pages.

"Why'd Dumbledore give you that one?" Ron asked.

"Well, why'd he give her a book of children's fairy tales?" Ginny countered.

"You can't explain Dumbledore, really," Harry said.

"This is a dark arts book," Draco said. "I'm pretty sure my father has it."

"Let's see it here," Harry said, reaching for the book.

Neville frowned. "Why would Dumbledore give you something dangerous like that?"

"I'm not quite sure that the book itself is dangerous," Hermione said.

"It's what's inside that is." Ginny glanced at Neville.

"What do you think Dumbledore is trying to get at?" Ron asked. "If he wants us to start doing dark magic…"

"Don't be an idiot, Weasley," Draco scorned.

"There's obviously a reason he left these to me," Hermione said. "I'm sure there's a message somewhere."

Luna sat up. "We have another memory to watch," she said.

"We do?" Ron asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said. "The one we're to watch after the books have been decharmed and before a silver doe makes a visit." She stood. "I'll go fetch it," she said before flitting out of the room.

"A silver doe?" Harry said.

"Does aren't silver," Neville said.

"A patronus is," Hermione said.

"True," Ginny nodded.

"Who do we know that has a silver doe as a patronus?" Harry said.

They shook their heads, Luna returning, the memory and the pensive in her arms. Setting the stone bowl down on the table, the DA Core scooted forward, circling around the pensieve as Luna uncorked the memory. She held it up to the light, the word, "remodified," scrawled beneath its label, before tipping it into the bowl.

* * *

They landed in Slughorn's office, the décor several decades behind current tastes. A round table was set in the middle of the room, a dozen chairs seated around it and the mostly-eaten remains of a dinner enough for a dozen already had. Professor Slughorn, wearing a stately green dressing robe, idly shuffled through a few parchments on his desk. From the door, a teenaged boy entered.

"That's Tom Riddle," Harry said of the teenaged boy approaching Slughorn. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. He becomes Lord Voldemort."

"Really?" Ron asked.

"Ah, Tom, my boy," Slughorn chortled, tugging on the lapels of his dressing robe as he straightened up. His flushed face expressed pride in the student standing pristinely before him.

"Professor?" the teenaged version of Lord Voldemort asked. "I have a question to ask of you."

Slughorn beefed up his chest, hands clasped around his bulging belly. "And what would that be, my boy?" he asked. "Make it quick, curfew is approaching."

He stepped forward, one hand resting on the back of a chair. "I would like to ask about…" He paused, glancing to the side in thought. "I would like to ask you about horcruxes."

There was only enough time for the DA Core to register Slughorn's horrified surprise before the memory blurred and the seven were spat out of the memory.

"That can't be all," Harry cried out. "There has to be more."

"What's a horcrux?" Neville asked. He looked at Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Hell if I know." He, in turn, looked at Hermione.

"I haven't heard of a horcrux until now," she said, shaking her head. "I assume they're Dark? He wouldn't be asking of them if they weren't, right?"

"I would assume so," Harry said.

"It's a mystery Dumbledore has left us, isn't it?" Luna said.

"It all has to have a meaning," Ron groaned, flopping down onto the floor.

"This is so bloody irritating," Draco grumbled, falling over sideways on the couch.

Hermione brushed up against his mind gently.

He glanced up at her, Hermione smiling down at him before looking up.

"Well, then we have a lot of work to do," she said.

"Work?" Ron said.

"Research," she said.

"We're not in school, Hermione," he cried out.

"We need to know everything we can about these horcruxes," she pointed out primly.

"Whatever they are, Voldemort wouldn't have asked about them if he wasn't very interested in them," Harry said.

Ginny nodded. "And Dumbledore wouldn't have given Luna this memory if it wasn't very important." She glanced at Luna.

Luna smiled. "I believe it's very important. It just may be the key to everything."

* * *

It was the end of December, the year rolling over to the next in less than twenty-four hours, and the DA Core holed themselves up in the study, the room filled with books on any and every topic imaginable. Over the course of the past day and a half, the seven had camped out in that particular room, a haphazard assortment of books stacked on the desk and scattered across the floor. Outside, the scene in front of Smithe and Bosworth was one of wind and snow, commuters and businessmen brunting the worst edge of both. Inside, a flurry of turning pages, frustrated sighs, and heavy books plagued the DA Core.

Hermione sat at the desk, a neat stack of books to her left, as she methodically paged through _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. Her fingers tapped a rhythm out onto the wood, the palm of her opposite arm cradling her chin. Harry, Neville, and Ginny had clustered in one of the corners, a few bottles of butterbeer aiding along their research. Draco and Ron took control of the two leather chairs in the room, each boy dragging their seat as far from the other as physically possible. Luna, wearing a pair of old, glittery Spectrespects from The Quibbler, sat comfortably on the floor, her back resting against the cabinet containing the pensieve. She nodded her head back and forth merrily as she browsed _Ancient Dark Magic: A Practice of Intent_.

_**I need a butterbeer. You want anything?**_ Draco stood up, stretching his arms over his head, his spine popping and cracking. His wings rustled as he opened and then closed them briefly.

Hermione looked up from her reading. _**No thanks.**_

_**You sure?**_

She smiled, reaching out a hand to stroke the edge of his right wing. _**Yeah.**_

Draco grinned down at her. _**Or would you rather we get a little alone time together?**_ He asked suggestively.

Swatting him, she laughed quietly and shook her head in disbelief. _**One track mind, you have.**_

_**I can't help it with you around.**_

_**Go get your butterbeer**_, she said, pushing him playfully.

Smirking, he left the room.

Hermione sighed and stared at the same paragraph she had just read three times. Arching her back, she reached over her head backwards, feeling her muscles protest slightly to the movement and the hours spent sitting at the desk. Marking her place in _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, she stood and left the room. Walking quietly through the house, she peeked around the edge of the doorway leading into the kitchen. Draco, with a butterbeer in hand, rummaged around in one of the cupboards. Sensing her presence, he poked his head around the cupboard door.

_**Hey, got tired of reading after all?**_

_**I never get tired of reading**_, she said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. _**But I did get tired of reading about all the ways you can drain a body of blood.**_

_**Good read, then? **_He turned around so they were face to face.

She laughed. _**Hardly.**_ Inhaling deeply, she sighed. _**You smell good.**_

_**A Malfoy always smells good.**_

_**What are you wearing today?**_

_**Mmm, nothing**_, he said and then laughed, a tinge of suggestive humor passing through their connection.

Hermione glanced at his attire, the simple look of a t-shirt and jeans fitting his laid back attitude.

_**Oh, get a good look, Granger**_, he taunted playfully. _**Not every girl in Hogwarts can have this.**_

_**I know a girl who can.**_

_**Do you now?**_

_**Uh huh.**_

_**And who is that?**_

_**Guess.**_

He bit his lip, shifting his hips back and forth as he gazed down at her. _**Don't wanna.**_

_**Here, I'll give you a clue. **_Gripping his collar, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

A sound escaped Draco's throat as he deepened the kiss she started. His wings fluttered and he couldn't help the stupid grin that pulled at his lips.

Hermione pulled away, fingers covering her mouth.

_**Hey, I wasn't finished**_, he said, reaching for her.

Laughing, she skirted around him, heading for the cold box. _**You're right. A butterbeer does sound good right now.**_

Draco growled from behind her.

_**What? **_She popped her head up. _**Oh!**_

Taking her by the hips, he picked her up, depositing her on the kitchen counter unceremoniously. Then, taking the cold butterbeer from her hand, he resumed what she had started.

A few minutes had passed before somebody giggled from the doorway.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Draco and Hermione looked up at Ginny standing smugly against the doorjamb.

"You mind, Weaslette?"

"We were…um…" Hermione trailed off, glancing down at Draco's fine boned hands resting on her hips.

Ginny chuckled, entering the kitchen. "Don't let me stop you," she said, retrieving a butterbeer for herself. Uncorking it, she took a swig, leaning against the side of the cold box.

"Do you mind?" Draco said. "Or are you going to watch?"

Wrinkling her nose, Ginny shook her head. "I'll pass on that, Malfoy," she said, winking at Hermione.

"Alright," he said, nodding at the door.

"I'm going, I'm going," she said, walking out.

_**So, where were we?**_

Sighing contently, Hermione leaned forward, resting her forehead against Draco's. _**Right here.**_ She wrapped her arms around him, Draco doing the same.

_**I like it right here.**_

He ran his fingers down her spine, Hermione closing her eyes. A sound rumbled from somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. _**Was that your stomach?**_

_**I need to feed it.**_

_**You speak of it as if it were an animal.**_

_**It is an animal, a fierce and dangerous one. **_Growling, he poked her sides and pulled away. _**And now I must fill it with edible objects.**_

Turning around, Hermione opened the closest cupboard. _**Will this work? **_She threw him a bag of crisps.

Catching it, he ripped it open, eating a few. _**Yes, I believe it will.**_

_**Good, because we have research to do.**_

Taking each other's hand, they headed back to the study, nothing having changed in the fifteen minutes they had been gone. Hermione settled back down at the desk, Draco falling into the leather chair he had previously occupied, his bag of crisps crinkling as he set his bottle of butterbeer down. And, as they had since early that morning, they returned to the one goal in mind: finding out what a horcrux was and why Voldemort was so interested in them.

"This one's got nothing," Ron said some time later, the clock working its way towards dinnertime, tossing _A Hundred Ways to Die_ to the floor.

"Have you ever heard of reshelving it, Ron?" Hermione scolded, stooping to the floor to pick up the book.

"Why, when you'll just do it for me?" he muttered antagonistically.

Across the room, Draco chucked a book at Ron, the corner of which caught the side of the red-head's shoulder. "Watch your words, Weasley," he threatened.

Turning his shoulder, his fingers pressing into the forming bruise, Ron mouthed Draco's words mockingly when he thought the other boy wasn't looking.

"I saw that," Draco said.

"Saw what?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, paging through a chapter on blood sacrifices and the uses for the various types of human blood. Shuddering at a rather graphic illustration of one such method of sacrifice, she turned the page. Another equally, if not even more, gruesome image met her eyes. Just as she averted her eyes, a word caught her attention.

_…horcrux…_

Snapping back to the page, she gripped the edges of the book, her eyes tearing through the words.

_…and lastly, the darkest form of blood sacrifice belongs to an almost separate division of the Dark Arts, the formation of the horcrux. (See Chapter 17)_

_**Oh my God…oh my God…**_

Draco stood up, ignoring his previous argument with Ron. _**What's wrong?**_

_**Not what's wrong**_, she thought. _**What's right…I think I found something.**_

"Oi, I think Hermione found something," Draco said. "Budge over, love." Nudging her slightly, he fit his slender form into the chair right beside her, reading over her shoulder as she scanned the opening stanzas of the seventeenth chapter.

Hermione scooted over. "Listen," she said to the DA Core.

_…a horcrux is a device in which one stores a portion of their soul. With part of their soul contained elsewhere, if the body should die, the individual would not be rendered truly dead._

"So this is what he did," Harry said. "He made a horcrux."

"Horcruxes," Neville said, looking up. "I think he made more than one."

"Says who, Longbottom," Draco drawled.

"One of the memories," Luna said. "It says it is to be viewed once the first five have been destroyed."

"No," Ginny said, turning to her brother. "The diary Dumbledore left you…what did he say about it in the will?"

"It said…something about it being the last…no, no, the first destroyed," he said.

"The first destroyed of what?"

He furrowed his brow.

"Of seven," Hermione blurted out. "The first destroyed of seven."

"Seven?!" Ron squawked. "How do you even do that?"

Hermione's eyes scanned the page quickly. "By splitting your soul," she read. "It says it right here."

_…the ceremony in which the subject splits their soul, the fractured portion of the soul being bound within an object, is not one for the faint of heart. A blood sacrifice is required…_

"A blood sacrifice?" Ron said.

"Murder, Weasley," Draco said. "To split your soul, it requires that you kill someone."

Neville shook his head in disbelief. "And he split his soul seven times," he said. "Is that even possible."

"Apparently so," Harry said. "The bloody bastard has made himself immortal."

"Shit," Draco added.

"This complicates things," Ginny said.

"Unless…" Hermione frowned, tapping her finger against the page in the book.

"Unless what?" Harry said insistently.

"He's not exactly immortal," she said. "Not if we destroy all of his horcruxes first."

"And how are we going to do that?" Ron asked.

"The diary is already destroyed," she said.

Harry nodded. "Our second year at Hogwarts, down in the Chamber of Secrets," he said. "I stabbed it with a Basilisk fang."

"Parchment!" Hermione ordered. "I need parchment." Scooting her chair out, she opened one of the desk drawers and grabbed a loose sheet of clean parchment. An inkwell and quill sat in the corner of the desk, Hermione reaching for it. "Alright, so we know for sure that the diary was a horcrux, and it was destroyed using a Basilisk fang."

"A Basilisk fang," Neville pondered thoughtfully. "You suppose that would destroy all the horcruxes?"

"I would guess so," Hermione said, scribbling notes onto the parchment.

"But where would we find Basilisk fangs?" Ginny asked.

"Chamber of Secrets, of course," Ron said.

Harry nodded reluctantly. "It's an option," he said. "Though accessing them might be a problem."

"I'm pretty sure they sell them in Knockturn Alley," Draco said.

"Ok, I guess that's an option," Harry replied.

"Hermione, does it say anything about how to destroy a horcrux?" Ginny asked.

"Well, let's see," she said, skimming to the end of the page before turning it. "No, no not really. There's a little bit about how the purity of the soul would hinder the creation of a horcrux."

"I guess you have to be evil to start with," Harry said.

"Or insane," Draco added.

"Or both…"

"There's more on how to extract the piece of your soul after it's been split," she read. "And there's a few diagrams."

"Diagrams?" Draco asked.

She nodded. "A circle and runes you paint on the floor…oh, with the blood of the person you kill," she said, wrinkling her nose. "That is absolutely disgusting."

"So, the diary is, or was a definite horcrux," Harry said, glancing at Hermione's list. "Any other ideas?"

"One of the memories mentions a locket," Luna said. "We're to watch it once we've gotten the locket."

"I'll put it down as a possibility," Hermione said.

"We'll find out soon enough I imagine," Neville said.

Harry glanced up at the ceiling, tapping a finger against his lips. "There was a ring. I remember a ring in Dumbledore's office," he said slowly.

Hermione looked over at him. "A ring?"

"During my first lesson with him, the one where he showed me Voldemort's grandparents, the Gaunts, Marvolo was wearing this ring. Dumbledore pointed it out to me and said that I shouldn't forget the ring. Then, the last lesson I had with him, he showed me the same ring, except it was in his possession now and was cracked right down the middle. Dumbledore told me to remember that not everything was always as it seemed, and to be careful when working with things that I don't fully understand," he said.

"If this ring was a horcrux, do you think Dumbledore tried to destroy it?" Hermione asked.

"Remember his hand?" Ginny said.

Ron shuddered. "It was like it was dead," he said. "You don't think that's what happens to someone who tries to destroy a horcrux, do you?"

"I destroyed the diary, and I'm perfectly fine," Harry said.

"Did you ever ask Dumbledore about his hand, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Sure, but all he would say was that foolish acts often lead to disaster."

"I'll put the ring down as another possibility," Hermione said, jotting it down. "Ok, so that leaves us with one definite horcrux, already destroyed, two possibilities, and four unknowns."

"Three unknowns," Harry said. "Voldemort would be the last one."

"He would need to keep part of his soul in his own body," Neville said.

"Alright, make that three unknowns," she said.

Ginny sighed. "And still, that leaves us nowhere," she said.

"Not quite, according to the last memory we viewed, we're to be visited by a Silver Doe," Luna said. "Perhaps that will offer us a clue to the rest."


	58. Via Ad Prep Clausula

**Author's Note - **Yes, I know this is very late in coming to you. My computer had a chronic case of Blue Screen of Death Syndrome due to a failing motherboard. The Geek Squad wasn't able to fix it, so I had to get a new computer. Luckily, the GS was able to save my writing! So, that's my story. Anyways, here's the next chapter of Fire Dragon. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, but hopefully it won't take as long as this one.

**Another Note - **The chapter title means, very loosely, "The Road to the End," in Latin. Technically, "Ad Prep," means, "Towards," since I couldn't find a good enough translation for, "to."

**Disclaimer - **I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. You may only use the Ignius concept with my direct permission.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Eight**

"Via Ad Prep Clausula"

* * *

The first of the New Year brought bad news for all.

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC FALLS**

**Deatheaters Bring Ministry of Magic Down**

By: Uriel S. Blackman

_Some would say that the fall of Hogwarts marked the beginning of the second war. Others would claim that something bigger, something more harrowing, something like the Ministry falling, would dictate the start of the second war. Late last night, as the Wizarding World rang in the new year, Lord Voldemort stormed the Ministry of Magic, a legion of Deatheaters following him…_

"This is bad," Hermione said, reading over the paper during breakfast.

"But not exactly unexpected." Ginny glanced up from her bowl of cut fruit.

The DA Core had spent many nights discussing and debating the eventual fate of the Wizarding World. Majority's consensus told of their suspicion that Lord Voldemort would go after the Ministry next.

"A logical next step," Draco muttered.

"How unoriginal," Harry followed up with.

Ginny snickered.

"This still poses a problem, though," Hermione said.

"Point taken," Harry said.

"We won't be able to trust the Daily Prophet for reliable information," Neville said.

"Since when has the Daily Prophet ever been reliable?" Harry asked.

"Never," Hermione answered. "But I wonder if we'll still have it delivered to us. I'm guessing Dumbledore set that up for us."

"He set up a lot of stuff for us," Ron said.

"But it will still be a good gauge for the state of certain matters," Luna chimed in.

"We'll have to be extra careful when out of this house," Hermione continued. "The world will be an even more dangerous place."

"When we're _out_ of the house? How? There's only the portrait," Ron said.

"There's a password to apparate into and out of the house," Draco said. "It was in the will. Something like, 'Not here or there but everywhere.'"

"None of us know how to apparate."

"Are you that much of an idiot, Ron?" Hermione asked, smacking him on the head with the paper. "One of my books is on how to teach yourself apparition."

"Oh, right, forgot about that."

* * *

A day or so later, the DA Core set out to learn the art of apparition. And, as was usual, it proved to be an activity not without a good dose of bickering.

"No, no, no, you're doing it all wrong," Hermione declared to Ron.

"_What_ am I doing wrong?" he whined. "I've picked where I want to go, and I want to go there…what else is there?"

"Loads," she said, holding up _Apparition for the Independent Study_. "Listen here."

_…a common misconception believed by the beginning student is the concept of destination and determination. The two go hand in hand and are a must if one is to go where one wants to go._

_First, one must choose a place to apparate to. This destination must not only be somewhere you know, but there must be motivation to go there. Do you want to be there because there's somebody you must speak to? Is there a specific event that occurs in this particular place that you wish to attend? Are there items of interest that reside in this wished place of yours? It is absolutely elemental to understand…_

"I understand it, Hermione," Ron groaned. "I just can't do it."

"Nonsense, it's not that hard, Ronald," she snapped. "You just lack the self-control and motivation."

From the study door, an almost deafening crack exploded into the air, Neville grinning ear to ear. "I came all the way from the kitchen," he proudly claimed.

"Loudly too," Draco commented from his seated position by the window, his hair in a slightly tousled state.

"I'd like to see you be more quiet," Neville challenged, his chest puffed out bravely.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me?"

Neville hesitated a mere fraction of a second. "Yeah, I am," he said.

"Neville Longbottom, the great Gryffindor lump is challenging me," he said, gesturing to himself. "Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire?"

"Yep," Neville replied, nodding once. "From here to the sitting room. Whoever is quietest does the other's laundry for a week."

"Laundry?"

He shrugged. "You got something better?"

"Your side of the wardrobe is larger than mine," Draco said, straightening the hem of his shirt.

"So?"

"If I win, we switch wardrobe sides," he said.

"And if I win?"

"You get to keep your side," Draco smugged.

"No," Neville countered, frowning. "That's rubbish. If I win, I get the _whole_ wardrobe for myself."

"And what are you going to do with an entire wardrobe, Longbottom?" Draco asked.

Neville shrugged. "Whatever I want to do," he said.

Running a few fingers through his hair, Draco considered the challenge. "Alright, but on one condition. If I win, I get the whole wardrobe as well."

"Done," Neville said, the two shaking hands before disappearing with twin cracks.

* * *

Later that night a confused voice shouted through the house, "Oi, who's the idiot with the genius idea of using the linen cupboard as a wardrobe?"

* * *

The following afternoon, Hermione sat curled up in one of the study chairs, _The Inner Mind: A Guide to Occlumency and Legilimency_ open in her lap. Reviewing one particular paragraph in chapter two, her finger running over the lines, she set the book aside and closed her eyes. Breathing in through her nose, she let her diaphragm relax, her stomach rounding out as she let air into her lungs. Holding it for a moment, she slowly let the breath out. Reveling in the sensation of clearing her mind, she shrieked as somebody popped into the room. The noise of apparition disturbed the peaceful quiet she had previously immersed herself in. Opening her eyes, she watched as Draco promptly disappeared without a word. Sighing, she settled back down into the chair, concentrating on breathing and clearing her mind. Just as she was on her third round of inhalations and exhalations, another crack displaced the air, Draco stomping the floor before disapparating away again.

Muttering under her breath, Hermione readjusted herself in the chair and closed her eyes. However, not even a moment later, he was back.

"Dammit," Draco grumbled.

"Do you mind?" she asked angrily.

"Mind what?" he asked.

"I'm trying to do something here, and you're messing me up."

"Well, if you hadn't noticed, I'm working on something as well."

"Do it somewhere else."

Draco crossed his arms. "And where should I practice?"

"Anywhere but here," she answered. "This room's taken."

"So are all the other rooms," he countered.

"And the problem is?"

Draco mumbled something under his breath.

Hermione leaned forward. "What was that?"

"They all keep laughing at me," he bit out.

She smirked. "Then maybe you should think twice before making a bet with Neville."

"But it's Neville," he argued. "I should have won."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow testily. "What are you trying to say, Draco?"

He let out a hissing breath. "I don't really fancy having nowhere to keep my clothes," he said.

"From what I understand, you found a place perfectly fine."

"Yeah, well…"

"Well, what?"

"It was a bet with Longbottom. I should have won," he said, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Ugh, this is just so…UGH!"

From the chair, Hermione began to laugh.

"What?" he grumbled.

"You're upset that Neville's actually good at something," she said, grinning.

"No."

"No?"

"No," he pouted.

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed even louder. "Oh, I get it now."

Draco regarded her with displeasure.

"You're upset not that Neville's good at something; you're upset because he's actually _better_ at something than you," she accused.

His cursory silence said enough without actual words.

"Come on, at least try to be happy for him. He is your friend, after all."

Growling, he spun on his heel, popping away. A distant, _**Whatever**_, floated through her mind afterward. Hermione merely chuckled, her head shaking, before returning to clearing her mind.

* * *

A week or so had passed, the DA Core either perfecting apparition or coming pretty darn close. Ron, to his great enjoyment, barring the notion that he was last among his friends, mastered the art of disappearing and reappearing. His achievement, however, was not accomplished without help.

"Blimey, I did it," he proclaimed one night.

"Did what?" Ginny asked from one of the sitting room's chairs.

"Watch." Squeezing his eyes shut, he dissapparated with an exploding crack, reappearing a few meters to the left. "See?"

Draco winced, rubbing at his ear. "You're bloody loud about, Weasley."

Ron grinned, shoving the cauldron cake that was in his hand into his mouth. "Shud ub," he said around his snack.

Harry smiled at his best friend. "Way to go, mate," he said.

"So, Ron, how'd you do it?" Ginny asked, smirking smugly. "It sure took you forever."

"It was my idea," Luna said, entering the sitting room from the kitchen. She, as well, had a cauldron cake in one hand, eating it with far more grace than Ron. "I thought he needed a more concrete reason to be somewhere."

"And I _was_ hungry," he said.

"And I remembered how he loved cauldron cakes."

Ron shrugged happily. "And then it just happened."

"A reward at the end of a long journey is often encouragement enough," she said. "That, and going from the kitchen chair to the cupboard is rather simple."

"Right, anyways, what are you lot all doing?" he asked dismissively.

Harry held up the evening Daily Prophet. "Well, apparently we're all wanted fugitives now," he said, tossing Ron the paper.

Catching it, he held up the paper, seven large photos of each of them featured at the bottom of the front page. "One million galleons?" Ron squeaked upon seeing the price upon each of their heads. "Bloody hell, I turn myself in and get rich."

"That would be counter-productive, Weasley," Draco drawled.

Ron sneered. "I wasn't serious," he balked, turning red around the ears. "But why are we fugitives now?"

"We're wanted for crimes against the Ministry," Hermione said. "Fighting Deatheaters and supporting Dumbledore are apparently illegal now."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "Bullocks."

Draco snorted. "What's even better," he started, "is that the new Minister is a bloke named Augustus Rookwood." He turned the page and folded the paper in half, tapping his finger against a photo of an ugly, hunchbacked man.

Ron shuddered. "Ugh, there's a face only a mother could love."

"I doubt even his mother loved him," Ginny commented. "He's a nasty bugger."

"So, who is he, exactly?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "A Deatheater," she said, consulting the paper. "He used to work in the Department of Mysteries until he was sent to Azkaban a year or so ago for suspected alliances with the Dark."

"Obviously, he's been let out," Draco said.

"And cleared of all charges," Hermione read. "On account of Ministry error and lapse of judgment it says in the article."

"And now he's got a position back in the Ministry, as the Minister no less."

"This is all going to rubbish," Ron groaned.

"You got that right," Draco agreed.

* * *

And into rubbish, the Wizarding World kept falling. The next day's paper boasted the following headline:

**DAWN OF A NEW AGE HAS COME**

**The Wizarding World Heads for Greatness**

By: Mildred P. Trimspur

_In 1348, the Wizarding World drew its covers and went into hiding as Muggles everywhere reared up in protest to the natural occurrence of magic in humans. Ostracized, ridiculed, beaten, and often burned at the stake, our ancestors endured great suffering at the hands of the Muggles. Nearly 650 years later, the first infantile steps towards a second greatness have been taken…_

"What?" Hermione muttered quietly to herself, frowning as she skimmed the article.

"I don't like the sound of this, not one bit," Harry said.

_…in an effort to calm a panicked Wizarding population, the Ministry insists that a war is not upon us. The Ministry urges the public to acknowledge and dismiss the lies, scandal, and prejudice the __Light and The DA Core have instilled in our society. They are the enemy, wanting us to assimilate ourselves to a group of people who are so different from ourselves. Why must we be forced to live in the shadows and behind enchantments when we could prevail, exist among the Muggles as their superiors?_

"This is _ridiculous!_" Hermione balked.

Sighing, Neville shook his head. "This is all wrong."

"They have everything backwards," Luna chimed in. "I once had an Earwurt stuck in my toe, and I said everything backwards for a week. Perhaps the government is infested with Earwurts."

"Earwurts, Lovegood?" Draco asked in a dry manner. "Really?"

Luna smiled, tilting her head to the side. "Yes," she said. "They can be quite troublesome."

Rolling his eyes, Draco sat back, chuckling to himself.

Continuing to smile, Luna leaned forward. "You'll see someday, Draco," she said. "In fact, you may already have experienced an infestation in your…"

"Love, you gotta stop," Neville cut in, placing a hand on Luna's back. "You're not helping."

"Have I gone too far again?" she asked.

Twisting his lips into a grimace at Draco's expression, Neville nodded.

"Oh," Luna responded. "Quite sorry, then. Carry on."

Having reached the bottom of the front page, Hermione turned to page three where the story was continued.

_…in reference to what the general Wizarding public can expect in the coming months and years, we assure them that power and prestige will come to all of us. Repression by the Muggle has come to an end, and our time to reign supreme approaches. In the next few weeks, the general Wizarding public will notice new laws, regulations, and taxes being administrated by the Ministry. Our goal is the greater good, and your cooperation is much appreciated._

"Our cooperation?" Harry growled. "Yeah right…"

Ginny shook her head, her face pale as she covered her mouth. "This isn't saying what I think, is it?" she asked, looking up.

Neville bit his lip. "I hope not."

"Voldemort is running everything behind the scenes," Draco said.

"That would explain the Deatheater as Minister," Hermione added.

"Earwurts, again. This will complicate matters," Luna said. "Definitely complicate them…"

"What about these new laws and regulations?" Ginny said, pointing at the pertinent section of the article.

"I feel this is just the beginning," Hermione said, the DA Core nodding in agreement before falling into silence.

* * *

The next morning a series of informational pamphlets were included in the Daily Prophet. Most pertained to the recent changes in the Wizarding World, as evidenced by those titled "_The Ministry and You: What Happens Now?"_, "_Adjusting to Change",_ and the like. However, among the brochures were those that weren't quite as benign. Hermione, the closest within reach, picked up one of the tri-folded brochures and frowned.

"Muggleborns: A Case of Unjust Rights," she read quietly, slowly.

**Muggleborns: A Case of Unjust Rights**

**A Brief History**

_As long as there has been magic in the world, there have been those who have attained magic from non-magical sources. Magic, the core of our entire being, runs through our nerves as blood runs through our veins. When one's parents are of pure magic, "Pureblood" being the modern-day coinage, the magic residing in our bodies is pure as well. However, it is when one begins mixing magic and non-magic blood that problems arise. The squib is one such malfunction brought upon by mixing of blood, as is more common displays of inadequate wand control, bursts of accidental magic beyond childhood, and erroneous behavior. While manageable, individuals grow to be a burden upon the family unit as they age. Consequentially, the more the magical blood is mixed with non-magical or partial-magical blood, the problems begin to run from one generation to the next. The Ministry's estimation of purely-magical bloodlines still existing in the Wizarding World is approximately forty-two, a sixty percent decline from the Magical Census Count of 1856 where it was determined that over one hundred magical families were of pure magic._

**The Muggleborn**

_So, you may ask, where does the Muggleborn come into the picture? A Muggleborn, defined by Edward Winch, is a magical individual born from two non-magical parent as a spontaneous mutation of the Muggle genome. While the power of one with pure magic is strong and powerful, the power of a Muggleborn pales in comparison. Statistics have shown that the average level of wand ability of the typical Muggleborn is below that of a pure-magicked second year student. Where, you might wonder, do Muggleborns get their magic? First, the ability to acquire magic is a mutation, as previously mentioned. It is, secondly, where the Muggleborn gathers their magic that becomes the root of the problem._

**Relative Theory of Spontaneous Magic**

_In 1892, Alphred A. Mindwe theorized the Relative Theory of Spontaneous Magic. According to his theory, magic cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred from one individual to the next. Such as thus, when split, as which occurs when non-magical blood enters the equation, a fracture forms in the magic's baseline, rooting the aforementioned difficulties found in individuals lacking pure magic. Additionally, since magic can not be created, when it is spontaneously formed in a Muggleborn, the magic is essentially stolen from the general magical pool. Theorists have long surmised that this is the source of the squib._

**The Muggleborn and Society**

_It was once thought that Muggleborns and those lacking pure magic were inferior to those with pure magic. During this time in history, the Wizarding World flourished at the head of the evolutionary chain of species. As was witnessed, it seemed that the Wizarding World fell into the hidden shadows alongside the mixing of non-magical blood. It was this mixing of blood that drew the Wizarding World into shadows, our power dampened with impurities and defects. The Muggle has been and always will be our enemy, their blood a poison to our magic. The Muggleborn is an inferior bridge between the two that must be taken down if our society will climb once again into power. They have stood alongside us for too long as equals. The rights we, as Wizarding Citizens, enjoy should not be the same for Muggleborns. If they taint our blood pool, steal our magic, then they should have to pay a price._

The brochure fell from Hermione's fingers, almost blind rage passing through her eyes. "This can't get any worse," she said.

Neville, who had riffled through the other pamphlets, gazed fearfully at a thick booklet in his hand. "I think it gets worse," he said.

"Let's see it, Longbottom," Draco said, holding out his hand.

"What is it?" Harry asked, leaning over.

"Here, I'll read it," Hermione offered coldly, snatching the booklet out of Draco's hand.

Draco paused. "Um…" he said as Hermione looked at the shining cover, her eyes widening.

**MUGGLEBORN RECONSTITUTION ACT O****F 1997**

_In accordance with the public agenda, the Ministry and its Liaisons have approved and passed what will be named the Muggleborn Reconstitution Act of __1997__. All content printed hereby and afterward enacts as a law and/or regulation, punishable with a 3,000 galleon fine and up to 10 years in Azkaban._

**Subsection One**

**Article 1. **_Individuals heralding magic from two Muggle parents are hereby referred to as Muggleborn in __lieu__ of the title Witch or Wizard._

**Article 2. **_When in the presence of a pure magicked Witch or Wizard, the Muggleborn is required to acknowledge their inferiority._

**Article 3. **_The Muggleborn must, when speaking to a pure magicked witch or wizard, use the title "Witch" or "Wizard" as a __title__._

**Subsection Two**

**Article 1. **_Muggleborns are banned from interacting with Witches or Wizards on a casual level._

**Article 2. **_Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley are hereby off limits to Muggleborns unless escorted by a Witch or Wizard._

**Subsection Three**

**Article 1. **_Magic, being a pure element, is only for the use by a Witch or Wizard._

**Article 2. **_Wand ownership is limited to only Witches and Wizards. Muggleborns still in possession of a wand are required to turn them in at the Ministry._

**Article 3. **_It is unlawful to sell a wand to a Muggleborn or for a Muggleborn to be in the presence of a wand-selling establishment._

**Subsection Four**

**Article 1. **_Muggleborn breeding and other intimate relations are restricted to others of an equal or lesser status._

**Article 2. **_On a general level, Muggleborn breeding is discouraged, and requires a permit…_

In horror, Hermione dropped the booklet, stood up, and walked out of the room with not one word said, those printed in the Ministry issued booklet more than enough on their own.

As an enraged and tumultuous murmur began to grow around the breakfast table, Draco quietly stood and followed Hermione, feeling the wave of disturbed horror leaking from her mind into his.

"I'm **not** inferior," she raged upon his opening her bedroom door. "My wand ability is **not** equal to that of a second year. And what's this bleeding Muggle Reconstitution shite about? I'm not turning in my wand and I'll go anywhere I bloody well please, thank you very much. It's an outrage, a freaking ball of ruddy rubbish." Her hair flew outwards as she jerked around to look at Draco. "It's like we're not even human."

"You're human," he reassured, sitting down beside her. _**And calm down, love.**_

"_Calm down?_ You want me to _**calm down**_?" she screeched. She sat on the edge of the bed looking out the window at the peaceful Muggle suburb, hands in angry fists. "You're sitting here telling me to calm down when this god forsaken…"

"It's propaganda, Hermione," he said. "I think you know that as much as the rest of us."

"It is utter rubbish. First it was the houseelves and non-human creatures," she ranted and raved. "And now it is us…me…all because I come from two Muggle parents. There's nothing wrong with me…_nothing,_" she said, tears brimming. _**Nothing, Draco, there's nothing wrong with me or my magic.**_

Gently, he reached out to her. "Hermione…" _**Love…**_

She looked at him, angry again. "I know what he's doing…"

"Voldemort?"

Hermione nodded. "It's just like with the Nazis," she said.

"The Nazis?"

"In the 1940's Adolph Hitler convinced all of Germany that anybody who wasn't blue eyed and blond haired was inferior," she explained. "He said they were less than human and didn't deserve to live as the rest of the world. This is just like that…except without the concentration camps."

_**Concentration camps?**_

She shook her head. "You don't want to know," she said dismissively before continuing. "But, really, how could they print that?" she asked, turning to him in renewed anger. "I didn't steal anybody's magic. How could they say that? Magic just _is_…there's no hold on all that rubbish about it not being created or destroyed. It's not like there's only a set amount of magic in the world."

Draco sighed, reaching up a hand to untangle a few curls.

"The quality of the spell isn't in the magic but in the ability of the caster. There is no difference between 'pure magic' and magic of a Muggleborn or Half-Blood," she said, feigning air quotes. "If there was, then I wouldn't be the smartest witch in our class…"

"The whole school," Draco corrected.

"Exactly, I'm smarter than the whole bloody school," she ranted. "How can they claim that Muggleborns lack magical skill when the smartest witch in all of Hogwarts is a Muggleborn? It doesn't make sense. You know what I should do? I should write a letter and demand they print a retraction to that rubbish and appeal the Reconstitution Act. It's an outcry and backwards thinking."

His hand moved to her back. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said.

"And why not?"

"Because Voldemort is behind all this," he said. "It's propaganda, Hermione."

"It's utter shite, is what it is."

"A load of Hippogriff turds," he added, cracking a grin.

Hermione ignored his humor. "I want to march right down there and give them a piece of my mind," she seethed, turning to Draco. "And I've got half a mind to do it, Draco."

"I'm sure you do," he soothed, remaining calm even when his own emotions were rearing up in anger. "But you know just as we all know that protesting is not a good idea right now."

"Then what do we do?"

He shrugged. "Ride it out," he said. "Focus on finding the horcruxes and destroying Voldemort. We have more important things to worry about than what the Ministry is printing. It's a distraction, a diversion from what is really happening. You need to concentrated on what's important, and the inane drivel the Ministry comes up with isn't important."

She nodded. "I know," she said softly, then with a small scream of rage, she grabbed one of the books on her nightstand and hurled it against the window. "Ugh!"

"Hermione!" Draco stared at her with widened eyes.

Lips twisting, she grabbed another from the small stack and chucked it across the room.

"Whoa!" Draco reached up and snatched a third book from her hands before she could lob that one at the wall. "Stop."

For a moment, she tried to wrestle the book away from him, her nails scratching into his hand as she ground her teeth together. "Let it go!"

Tossing the book to the side, Draco grabbed her hands, pinning her to the bed with his body. "Quit it, right now," he ordered.

Lips pressed together, Hermione felt as he heart raced, anger surging through her veins. "I'm angry."

"I know."

"No you don't! You're a Pureblood," she said. "You'll never understand, Draco. You don't know what it's like to be a Muggleborn, to have all of this happen to you."

_**But it's happening to you**_, he said soundlessly. _**Anything that happens to you, happens to me. We're one and the same, Hermione. They can't change that, though I'm sure they would try.**_

She sighed, looking off to the side, ignoring the fact that Draco was pressed against her.

Leaning down, Draco kissed her once, twice, and then three times.

Again, she sighed, staring up at him. "I'm just mad. I don't like being discriminated against."

"I know," he said, grinning and then wagged his eyebrows. "Interesting position we're in, though."

Mouth agape, Hermione balked. "You skeeving little…"

Draco covered her mouth with his own, ceasing her rant, an act which was quite successful. Wigging slightly, he chuckled as she glared at him.

"You're insufferable," she claimed haughtily.

His hand ran through her hair. "Uh huh."

"A bag of…"

He leaned in towards her.

"…teenaged…"

Draco grinned, one hand trailing down her side.

"…boy…" Hermione faltered and bit her lip.

"Yeah, what was that?" he asked cheekily. His fingers grazed across the skin right above her hip.

She paused, gazing up into his silver eyes. His wings cocooned them in warmth and darkness. "Ah, to Hell with it," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him firmly upon the mouth.

Draco purred, feathers rustling.

"Wait," Hermione interrupted.

"What?"

She looked at him accusingly. "You're distracting me," she said.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, and?"

"And…" Hermione blinked. "I'm still mad," she said quietly.

"You can be mad," he said, kissing her again.

"Wait," she said again, placing her fingers over his mouth.

He growled. "What now?"

"I wasn't finished," she said.

_**Be finished**_, he said, occupying her mouth with his own. _**Don't let them get you down. It's what they want, Love. Be stronger than that.**_

Silence met his thoughts for several long moments while they were wrapped up in each other before Hermione replied.

_**I am stronger than that.**_

* * *

**Special Note and Shameless Plug - **If anybody's interested, a few weeks ago I officially became a paid freelance writer. Yay! I write for a website called Associated Content: www(dot)associatedcontent(dot)com(slash)user(slash)606613(slash)jenny(under score)fick(dot)html I don't make much, and I write mostly articles rather than fiction, but you gotta start somewhere!


	59. Argentum Cervus

**Author's Note - **This chapter comes with some disappointment because I had thought and wished that I would have been finished with Fire Dragon at this point. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) begins next month, and I'm no where near a good stopping point nor am I near the end of Fire Dragon. The end is approaching, but it's still too far away to reach in a month. It's such a love/hate relationship I have with Fire Dragon. So, with that comes the announcement that Fire Dragon will not see another update until the middle or end of December. I don't even have the comfy cushion of extra chapters this year like I did last year. Oh, what have I done? There's more announcements at the end of the chapter.

**Another Note - **The chapter title means, "The Silver Doe," in Latin.

**Disclaimer - **I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty Nine**

"Argentum Cervus"

* * *

The beginning of January shifted into the middle and finally to a chilly end to the month. The DA Core focused on the important subjects at hand: theorizing the identities and locations of the remaining horcruxes, how to destroy said horcruxes upon discovery, mastering apparition to such a degree that their arrivals and departures were nearly silent, and learning Occlumency and Legilimency. All the while, immersed in a frenzy of learning and studying eerily reminiscent of fifth year O.W.L. preparations, they waited with bated breaths for the silver doe, for a sign leading to their next assignment, their next mission. Meanwhile, the DA Core had plenty to occupy their time with.

"Alright, try me again."

"You sure?"

Hermione nodded, sitting up in the chair, a certain paleness about her features. "Yes," she insisted.

Draco sighed, drawing his wand.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione cleared her mind of all erroneous thought.

"_Legilimens_," Draco cast.

Flashes of images filled his mind for a split second before they grew hazy and clouded. Just as he thought she had begun to master Occlumency, a sharp, jabbing pain seared through his mind. Hermione clutched her head, struggling to not cry out as Draco's knees nearly buckled.

Hermione blanched.

"I can't do this anymore," he admitted, getting back to his feet.

Groaning, she rubbed her temples. "Maybe that's a good idea," she sighed.

"I think maybe it's your connection." Ginny entered the room, flopping down into one of the leather chairs.

Draco and Hermione shared a look.

"It's possible," Hermione said, turning to Ginny.

"What's possible?" Harry peeked his head in.

"That you've got more than two brain cells worth using," Draco replied cheekily, grinning up at Harry.

"Oh, real original, Malfoy," Harry said.

Draco polished his nails on the front of his shirt. "Well, I thought it was rather witty," he said.

_**Oh, will you just stop it**_, Hermione cut in, smacking him on the arm.

_**If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, Granger, he's too easy**_, Draco replied.

Grumbling, Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're a pain in the arse, you know that?" she asked outloud.

Harry barked a laugh.

"Shut it, Potter."

"I didn't say anything," Harry said, shaking his head amidst laughter.

"As I was saying," Hermione began again, glaring at Draco and Harry, "it's possible that our connection is preventing the use of the Legilimens spell on each other. We're already in each other's heads."

"It makes sense," Ginny nodded. "Have you tried Occlumency on each other without using Legilimency?"

"What makes sense?" Luna entered the room.

"That Draco and Hermione can't use Legilimency or Occlumency on each other," Ginny explained.

"Oh yes, that does make sense," she said and then changed the subject. "Has anybody seen Neville lately?"

"He's in the dining room," Harry said. "Last I saw him, anyways."

"Oh, right," she said, turning to leave. "I always forget to check that room."

Luna flounced out of the room, a wayward jingle to a song heard on the Wizarding Wireless months ago trailing her departure.

Hermione looked to Draco. "We haven't tried just Occlumency on each other yet," she said.

He grimaced, rubbing his head. "Are you sure you want to try?"

Shrugging, she nodded. "It's worth a shot."

"Alright," he sighed.

Hermione closed her eyes. _**You try to force me out.**_

_**Alright, you ready?**_

_**Yep, just do it.**_

Hermione smiled as she gently skirted around the edge of his presence in her mind, pressing against it, catching snippets of his thoughts. Venturing deeper, images began infiltrating her own mind, memories of recent events. She carefully picked through them, touching on one or two, grinning at one in particular, her own memory of their time spent together fresh in her own mind. Casting that memory to the side, she continued to poke around.

Draco focused simply on breathing, breathing and clearing his mind. He felt as Hermione forged her way deeper into his thoughts and memories, deeper than they naturally went. Reaching out, he felt her presence, acknowledged it, and shoved at it.

Back in the study, Hermione screeched, leaping out of the chair and landing on the floor. Her hands shook as she looked up at Draco.

"Shit," Draco cursed. "I'm sorry, love."

"It's ok," she said, grabbing his offered hand and pulling herself to her feet.

"So, I guess that's a no?" Ginny asked.

"Obviously," Harry added, watching them.

Draco and Hermione shared a glance.

_**You're still in my head**_, Draco said. _**So I guess it is a no.**_

Hermione shrugged, rubbing at her temples. "I guess that's something to add to the books," she said.

Wrapping an arm around his mate, Draco gently brushed a few fingers over her head, smoothing back a few strands of hair and soothing away the ache he had left in her mind.

From halfway across the house, Ron shouted excitedly, "Oi, you lot, get in the kitchen, we've got post, and it's not the Daily Prophet."

Those in the study exchanged curious glances before filing out of the study. Entering the kitchen as Neville and Luna showed up through the other doorway, Ron looked up with excitement in his eyes. He held a rolled paper in his hand. A tiny owl hooted and fluttered around the kitchen, smacking into the cupboards and landing with a crash in the bowl of lemon sherbets.

"Is that Pig?" Harry asked.

Ginny squealed, reaching up and plucking the owl from the air right before he flew into a wall. "It is," she said, gently smoothing back the owl's feathers. "How'd you fly all the way here?" she cooed, kissing the owl on his tiny head.

Pig hooted, struggling to free himself from Ginny's hands.

"Ginny, it's an owl, not a baby," Ron said.

"I know that!" she snapped, letting Pig go.

"Sheesh, sisters…" he said.

"What did Pig deliver?" Hermione asked, reaching out for the paper in Ron's hand.

"I'm not sure," Ron replied, handing her the paper as the DA Core sat down at the kitchen table.

Removing the band from the paper, Hermione unrolled it. "_THE REVOLUTION_," she read. Beneath the paper's name, a tiny script read, "_A Light Publication_."

Eyes widened simultaneously around the table.

"Read it, Hermione," Harry urged.

"The first article is…it's about us," she exclaimed.

**THE DA CORE: MIA**

**Location Unknown**

By: Lee Jordan

_Everybody knows who the DA Core is, whether because you walked the same Hogwarts halls as they did, because you know them personally, or because you've been keeping up to date with the horribly inaccurate Daily Prophet. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Draco Malfoy formed the DA Core as an offshoot of Dumbledore's Army, a resistance group against Delores Umbridge, evil incarnate extraordinaire. Bound together against a common enemy, they forged the way for change within the walls of Hogwarts. An injustice arose around them, and instead of laying down and giving up, they stood up and fought for what was right._

_They lead the way, organizing the students into armies and keeping the lower years safe when Hogwarts was threatened. At the forefront of the battle, they formed the example for what was noble and just in the world. Evil stands at our own doorstep, and the DA Core fought for what was right. So much has gone wrong in our world, and these seven individuals, individuals who are still __**children**__, __have more loyalty and bravery than all of Hogwarts put together. Heroes they are, legends they are becoming, and in our hearts they forever will be._

_And it is because of this that their disappearance hits the hardest. Last seen in the midst of battle during the Battle of Hogwarts, neither wand nor magical signature has been seen of the famous seven. Rumored dead in some circles, on the run in others, the Light can only hope that the DA Core is safe and sound, alive and well. After the death of Albus Dumbledore, favored mentor and leader to thousands, hope now rests in the DA Core. They are our future, us their loyal followers. Are you still out there?_

"Replies to this article have been activated," Hermione read from the bottom of the article. "Please refer to page thirteen and title your reply, 'The DA Core.'"

"We should write back," Ginny said.

"I didn't know we were so famous," Ron blurted out at the same time. "I mean, more so than usual."

"Legends, they called us legends," Neville babbled.

"And heroes, don't forget heroes, love," Luna added.

"Turn to page thirteen," Draco said, nodding at Hermione.

On page thirteen, in a small box in the lower right-hand corner, the instructions for replying were written:

**Have a comment, reply, message, suggestion, complaint, or publication idea?**

_Please tap within the square and proclaim your loyalties to the Light._

The DA Core turned their eyes towards Harry, unspoken agreements passing between them. Harry, taking his wand, nodded and tapped the newspaper within the square's boundaries.

"I am loyal to the Light," he said.

The square glowed white for a brief moment, Harry's wand glowing as well, before the text in the box changed.

**Please send all owl submissions to:**

_London Post Box 909_

_London, England_

_Courtesy of Fred and George Weasley_

Ginny snorted. "I should have known they were behind all this," she said.

"We need to reply," Harry said next. "They need hope."

The DA Core murmured their agreement. Just as Hermione went to turn the page, Ginny stopped her, her hand on Hermione's wrist.

"Hold on," the redhead instructed, pointing at another article on the front page. "What's this?"

**MUGGLEBORN REGISTRY ACT**

**Muggleborns Required to Register at Ministry**

By: Hannah Abbot

_It has come to our attention that the Dark-run Ministry of Magic, whose intent becomes darker and darker each day, will be enacting the Muggleborn Registry Act before the end of the month. Our inside informant states that the Muggleborn Registry Act, monickered as the MRA, is an amendment of the Muggleborn Reconstitution Act further restricting the rights of Muggleborns._

_The MRA will require all Muggleborns to register with the Ministry, similar to the Werewolf Register Act of 1947. In coordination with the MRA, the general demographics (including current address, education history, age, gender, etc.), parentage, blood status, criminal offenses, magical signature, and family status will be recorded. Additionally, Muggleborns will be subjected to a Magic Monitor during this registration process where a tie between their magical signature and a Ministry database will be created, allowing the Ministry to keep tabs on what you cast, when, and where. Lastly, in conjunction with the previously instated Muggle Reconstitution Act, the Ministry will be confiscating wands during this process as well, cataloging the wand's core and general characteristics to add to your Ministry file._

_So far, our insiders have informed us that the MRA will be enforced purely on a voluntary basis, meaning Muggleborns will be required to register, but there is no means yet to physically or magically force Muggleborns to register. For the time being, it is the Light's recommendation to avoid Ministry Registration at all costs. Your magic is your own, and you have a right to wield it within your own personal abilities. What the Ministry is doing is in direct violation of the Equal Magical Opportunity Act of 1985. Until we receive further notice in regards to the means of the MRA enforcement, hold on to your wand, avoid Registration and the Ministry, and think before you cast. Foolishness will not get you far in today's age, and at worst, it will land you with an Azkaban sentence. _

_Lastly, we at the Revolution urge any Muggleborns or Light followers to seek immediate assistance if they find themselves in dire need of help. Please note the list of Safehouses on page 16. Remember: You are valued members of our society._

In resignment, Hermione dropped the paper, shaking her head. She stood from the table and began opening cupboards, setting things down on the counter.

"Hermione?" Draco stood up.

"No, I'm fine," she said, filling a pot with water. "Ginny, spaghetti tonight?" She glanced backwards at the red-head.

"I could go for some pasta," she said. "But, really, Hermione..."

Hermione stopped, one hand on the kitchen faucet. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You'll have to talk about it sooner or later. What's not said always comes out eventually, you know," Luna interjected.

"Luna, really, I appreciate the gesture, but I don't want to think about it right now," she said. "Does anyone know what we did with that loaf of French bread that appeared the other day?"

"I ate it," Ron confessed, and then added, "but there's another loaf in the bread box." He grinned sheepishly before Hermione could go off on him.

"Want some help?" Draco asked, resting his hand on the small of her back.

_**You sure you're ok?**_

_**I'm FINE,**_ she thought back. _**I just wish everyone would stop looking at me like that.**_

"You remember how to make garlic bread?" she asked.

_**Like what?**_

_**Like I'm going to crack.**_

"Yeah, I think I can manage that."

_**So, you're not going to crack?**_

_**No, I said I'm fine.**_

_**Alright.**_

"Maybe Harry should help you," Hermione suggested.

"What about me?" the other boy asked, looking up from a mock game of quidditch he and Ron had conjured using a few stray odds and ends that had been sitting on the table earlier.

"Can you help Draco with the garlic bread?"

"I was unaware that I needed help, Hermione."

"He doesn't need help," Harry said, returning to his game with Ron.

"Harry..."

"Hermione, I'll help him," Neville offered, opening the bread box.

"You know how to cook, Longbottom?"

Neville sighed. "Yes, Draco, I do know my way around the kitchen."

"Yeah, he's not completely helpless, like some people we know," Ron snorted.

"Weasley, I'd like to see you try," Draco challenged.

Ron waves his hand dismissively. "All that cooking stuff is for the women," he said. "But, you know, if that's what you're into..."

Suddenly, the tiny quidditch figures burst into flame, crumbling into a pile of charred remains. Draco's feathers rustled angrily.

"Hey!" Ron retorted as Ginny lobbed a pot holder at his head.

That, in turn, resulted in a scuffle between Ron and Draco, Ginny adding in a few clever quips about Ron. The rest of the night was spent in similar fashion.

* * *

That night, as Hermione was drifting off to sleep, a gentle poke at the connection she shared with Draco brought her back into consciousness.

_**Mmm...what is it?**_

_**Meet me in the living room.**_

_**Right now?**_

_**Yes, right now.**_

_**But I'm tired.**_

_**So? Be tired in here.**_ He paused, growing quieter. _**I can't sleep.**_

Hermione stalled her response for a few moments. _**Ok, I'm coming.**_

Softly, she padded out into the living room, the room aglow from the fireplace. Draco lay stretched out on the couch. Silently, Hermione crawled onto the couch beside him.

_**You couldn't sleep? **_She laid her head down on his chest.

_**Longbottom's snoring again.**_

_**You've heard of silencing charms, right?**_

Draco poked her side, Hermione squealing softly. _**Don't be catty.**_

_**I can't help it.**_

He chuckled and then turned quiet.

_**What is it?**_ Hermione asked.

_**What's what?**_

_**Well, when ever you go quiet like that, you always have something to say.**_

_**I always have something to say**_, he responded.

_**You know what I mean, and I think I know what you want to say.**_

_**You do, do you?**_

_**Yeah, and I've already told you many times that I'm fine.**_

_**That wasn't what I wanted to say.**_

_**It wasn't?**_

_**Nope.**_

_**Damn,**_ she said softly as if to herself, _**I must be loosing my touch.**_

_**But I did want to say something.**_

Hermione angled her head slightly upwards so her eyes rested on his face. _**Yeah?**_

_**And, please, don't take this the wrong way.**_

_**Draco Malfoy, placing disclaimers before saying something. I'm shocked.**_

He grinned. _**Stop it.**_

_**Ok, what was it you wanted to say?**_

He paused, thinking through his words. _**I don't want you to get too hung up in what the Ministry is doing. I know I'm not a Muggleborn, nor do I know what it's like, but I can tell that what they do is affecting you. **_Again, he paused, gauging her reaction.

_**I'm listening**_, she said once he stopped talking.

_**It's not that I'm saying that you need to be stronger, because Merlin knows you're one of the strongest women I know...dealing with everything going on and...well, and me in a way. It's not about strength that I'm asking you to show. You can't get worked up about every little thing that they do or print in the Daily Prophet. The Ministry is run by Deatheaters; they're going to create laws and print material that discriminates against you.**_

Hermione sighed heavily, resting her chin on his chest, her eyes cast to the side as if in thought.

_**Hermione, I really don't...**_

_**I'm thinking**_, she said, cutting him off.

_**Ok...**_

_**I see what you're saying, and I agree with you. But...I just...I don't know. Half the time I can't help it.**_

_**What do you mean, 'you can't help it?'**_

_**I've been really emotional lately. **_Curling her hand into a fist, she rested her chin atop it. _**I don't know. I've just been one big PMS-fest.**_

_**Whoa, that's...um...**_

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. _**Boys...**_ she trailed off.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself under his breath. _**Shouldn't you and Ginny be talking about stuff like this.**_

_**We do talk about this stuff together...Luna too. What? Can't I talk to you too? Or are my feelings too girly for you? God damn, Draco, we practically share one mind. **_Angrily, she sat up, straddling his hips, her hair a mess around her face.

_**Hermione, for Merlin's sake, will you listen to yourself?**_

_**What? **_she quipped cattily.

_**Just calm down. I didn't say that you couldn't talk to me; you can always talk to me. And your feelings aren't too girly. I just thought that since Ginny is a girl too...and Luna, I suppose...**_

_**You suppose?**_

He gave her a cold glare.

_**Sorry, sorry...go on.**_

_**As I was saying...I just thought they would understand better. Plus, I don't know, you talking about PMS is just weird.**_

_**Why? It happens to me every month.**_

Draco winced. _**Yes, but...ugh, it's a guy thing.**_

Another sigh. _**It's always a guy thing.**_

_**Just stop it**_, he requested, reaching into her mind. _**It's late, and I'm tired.**_

_**What are you doing?**_

_**Trying to calm you down...you're so angry.**_

_**I am not.**_

He didn't answer, merely continued edging around her presence in his mind, soothing away the hot, sharp feelings that jutted out of her thoughts. It only took a moment, but soon Hermione relaxed, releasing a sigh, before laying back down. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, her head resting beside Draco's. Extracting himself from her mind, Draco turned his head to look at her.

"Better?" he asked outloud.

"Yes, but I can manage my own feelings, you know," she said.

"I know...just wanted to help."

Hermione closed her eyes, curling up right beside him. _**Thanks...**_

* * *

As February shifted into the beginning days of March, the DA Core celebrating Ron's birthday with the usual red-head's requested feast, they received a visitor. It came through the kitchen window, landing on the floor.

"Is that what I think it is?" Ron asked from the kitchen sink where he'd been finishing the last piece of his birthday cake.

"It's a silver doe," Hermione exclaimed, bounding out of her chair to kneel down beside it.

Harry, who'd been sitting at the table, called for everybody to meet in the kitchen, the rest of the DA Core emerging from various corners of the house.

"The silver doe...like from the memory," Luna smiled.

The silver doe patronus sat back on it's haunches, gazing up at the seven friends, and opened it's mouth.

"This message is for the DA Core. Meet me at the play park on Magnolia Road in Little Whinging on March 18th at midnight. I have something of which you require," it said in the unmistakable voice of Severus Snape before leaping out the window and disappearing.

* * *

**Other Notes**

**Fanvids: **One of your fellow readers has created a fanvid for Fire Dragon: www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch(question mark)v(equal sign)DfqsQq3705Y&feature(equal sign)channel(under score)page Make sure to check it out. It's really good! And on the topic of fanvids, I've received a few messages requesting permission to make fanvids. I would like to say at this time that you have my express permission to create a fanvid for Fire Dragon. I only ask that you give credit where credit is due and that you share it with me. I love fanvids!

**NaNo Follow Along:** As I do every year, if you wish to follow along with my NaNo novel, you may do so through here: niftynovelist(dot)livejournal(dot)com I have yet to so my usual introductory post for the year, but that will be done within the next few days, and once November hits, I'll be updating about once a day.

**More NaNo:** It occurred to me today after speaking to someone in my writing group, that I should offer all of my readers a challenge: I challenge you to participate in NaNoWriMo with me this year! 50,000 words in 30 days...what could be more fun?! Whether it's something you already do, or something you've never even thought about considering, I think you should try! So, if you're interested, head over to www(dot)nanowrimo(dot)org and sign up. I'll create a specific thread on the NaNo forums for us under "Writing Groups and Clubs." Come and join us!


	60. Nox Noctis Placitum quod Lemures of Pret

**Author's Note** - Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. This is more than late. But I have a reason! I swear! I really wanted to finish Fire Dragon before school began, which was about two weeks ago. So, I tried to sprint the end of Fire Dragon. Well, that didn't happen. When I realized that wasn't going to happen, I said that I wanted to finish before the end of January. Well, that's not happening either. I have, including this chapter, about six more chapters written. Chapter sixty six is almost finished, and I estimate that I have about three or four chapters left. We're getting to the end here people, and while I really like these last several chapters, they do need some minor editing which isn't going to happen outside of punctuation, grammar, and general plot points. Anyways, I'll stop with the boring rambling so you can start reading this next chapter, which is REALLY good. Enjoy!

**Another Note** - The chapter title should read, "Midnight Meetings and Ghosts of the Past," in Latin, but I couldn't find a translation for "Midnight," so it actually reads, "Night Meetings and Ghosts of the Past." I wouldn't worry about it.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing Harry Potter related except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty**

"Nox Noctis Placitum quod Lemures of Preteritus"

* * *

At midnight on a March night where winter's chill still clung to the sleepy subdivision of Little Whinging, seven figures popped into existence at the far end of the playpark off of Magnolia Road. Darkness swallowed the scenery, trees blending into basketball hoops, benches, and other trees. Off in the distance, the play equipment sat as tall, brooding structures. Glancing around at each other, the seven figures nodded and headed for the play equipment, the hexagonal climbing structure, to be exact. As they approached, a tall, dark figure stepped out into the open. The seven stopped and drew their wands, the other figure doing so, as well.

"Prove your identity," the seven requested.

A series of grumbles came from the cloaked figure before a silver doe leapt into the air, landing on the grassy plot.

"I expect you to do the same, _Potter_," the figure spat, flicking his wand, the patronus disappearing.

Harry, standing at the forefront of the DA Core, cast his patronus, a pronged deer materializing. The other six members of the DA Core followed in succession, an otter, a weasel, a rabbit, among other silvered animals and creatures convening in the middle of the playpark. Severus Snape gazed upon one of the patronuses, an eyebrow raised.

"Huh, so it is true, then," he murmured, turning to Draco. "Your patronus takes on your own shape. How interesting."

Draco called his patronus back, extinguishing it. "Yes, it does," he says. "I might say other things about yours, Professor Snape."

Hermione glanced at Draco and then at Snape. Ron stood towards the back of the group beside Luna, who was busy directing her rabbit around in circles. He sneered, gripping his wand.

Harry, sensing the tension, held a hand back at the DA Core and regarded Snape. "You said you had some information for us," he said.

"Yes, I did say that, didn't I?" the Potions Professor said almost musingly. He folded his arms.

"What is it, Snape?" Harry asked.

"You seek the Dark Lord's secret, his weakness," he began.

"His horcruxes, yes, if that's what you mean," Harry said.

"Of course, that's what I mean, Potter," Snape snapped.

Harry crossed his arms. "Well?"

"Don't get snappy with me, Mr. Potter."

"We don't have all night."

"Ten points...."

Harry smirked. "We're not at Hogwarts. You can't take points from my house..."

"...or give us detentions," Ron spoke up.

Snape raised his head and stared Ron down. "Is that so, Mr. Weasley?" he asked.

"Yes, it is," he replied.

Snape folded his arms, turning his nose up at Ron. "We'll see about that," he said aloofly.

"Sir, you said you had something that we're looking for," Hermione diverted, placing a hand on Ron's arm.

Harry glanced at Hermione before nodding. "Yeah, we don't want to hang around for too long," he said.

"A wise decision, Mr. Potter," he replied, glancing into the shadows. "The horcruxes that you seek, one is hidden at Godric's Hollow. A locket."

"I knew there was a locket." Luna beamed.

"So the locket's definitely one of the horcruxes," Harry insinuated.

"It's not just a locket," Snape said stiffly. "It's Slytherin's locket."

"Ohhh," Hermione muttered, an idea dawning. Her eyes grew luminescent.

Snape gave Hermione one glance. "There will be a..." He cleared his throat. "Someone might assist you while you're there." He stared intently at Harry, making the boy nervous.

"Who, specifically?" Neville asked, speaking up.

"Ah, Longbottom," Snape said, giving him a sneering grin. "Forgot you were a part of this maraudering group." His last few words were said with contempt.

Neville straightened his shoulders. "I am," he said. "And I asked who, specifically, will we run into at Godric's Hollow?"

"That I can not divulge at this time," he said. "Though you lot shouldn't worry your little minds over it. She's quite harmless."

"She?"

"No more on that matter, Longbottom," he snapped.

"Professor Snape, another question?" Ginny stepped forward.

He groaned as if conversing with the DA Core caused great mental pain. "Fine, if you must."

"How do you know of the locket?"

"Do you not trust my information?" he asked coldly.

"No," she answered evenly, placing her hands upon her hips. "It's not that we don't trust you, it's more of a...reference check, of a sort."

Another pained groan. "If you must know, I bought the locket off of Dung, who must have stolen it from Grimmauld Pla..."

"It was at Grimmauld Place?" Harry cut in.

"Manners, Potter. Hasn't anyone taught you any, yet?"

"No, Sir," Draco pipped up. "It's something we're working on." He couldn't keep the triumphant grin from showing.

_**You're a prat.**_

Draco sent Hermione a smoldering grin.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I bought it off of Dung knowing quite well what it was. The Dark Lord wished to see it and requested that I hide it somewhere," he finished saying.

"So Voldemort knows where it is?"

"Potter, _don't_ say his name. It's bad form," he said. "And, no, The Dark Lord doesn't know its true location. A decoy is placed in a cave somewhere out of the way."

"A decoy?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape said scathingly. "You've certainly heard of a decoy, yes?"

"I'm not an invalid, you know?"

"Yes you are," Draco shouted out.

"You just wait until we get home, Malfoy," Harry threatened, pointing his wand at him to make his point.

"Right," Snape drawled, glancing back and forth between the DA Core. "There's one last matter I must discuss. Draco..." He beckoned for the blond boy to follow him.

"What you have to say to him, you can say to the rest of us," Harry said, suddenly defensive of Draco.

"I wish to speak with him in _private_, Potter," he scathed. "You do know the concept of _private_, do you not?"

Harry merely growled.

Draco looked between Snape and Hermione.

_**Go, love**_, Hermione said. _**We'll watch from here. Anything happens, and we'll hex him into next month.**_

A small smile appeared on Draco face. _**I doubt that'll be necessary, but I appreciate the gesture. I can take care of myself, you know.**_

_** Of course you can.**_

As Draco followed Snape off into the shadows, he cast a playful sneer back at Hermione, poking their connection.

The shadows covered their tall forms, cloaking them in darkness and solitude. Once they stopped, Snape turned around.

"There is something I must tell you," he said. "It's something I was unable to convey during the school term for obvious reasons."

"Alright, what is it you wish to tell me?" Draco asked, glancing back at his friends.

"It's in regards to your mother," he said.

Draco shifted, a sharp pain rising in his chest. He felt Hermione prod at their connection, sensing his sharp distress, and soothed her away, reassuring her that everything was fine.

"What about my mother?"

"You need to understand, Mr. Malfoy, that your father had intentions past forcing you to join the Dark Lord," he said.

Draco stared at the ground, frowning. "You mean..."

"He would have killed her no matter your actions," he said. "Lucius is a ruthless man, Draco. He will do anything to come by his own ends."

"You think I don't know that?" Draco snapped suddenly. "I grew up with the bastard."

"Yes, I know you did, and it's most unfortunate," Snape said smoothly, face void of emotion.

"Little late for that regard," he said, crossing his arms.

"You aren't understanding the point, Draco. You did what I never had the courage to do when I was your age," he said.

Draco was silent for a few moments, thinking. "But it wasn't as if I had a choice," he finally said.

"You always had a choice. Dumbledore or the Dark Lord," he said.

"Hermione or my father."

"The Light or the Dark," he said. "It doesn't make any difference how you put it."

"But I couldn't have very well deflected to the Dark," he said.

"Yes, you could have," he said simply. "No matter what you want to believe, that was always a choice."

Anger bubbled up.

_**Draco?**_

_** I'm fine.**_

_** Are you sure?**_

_** Yes. We'll be just another moment.**_

_** Ok...**_

He glanced over at his bonded, her bushy hair silhouetted by the moonlight, and turned back to Snape. "Fine, there was a choice to make, but there was no question in what I would do."

"Yes, and I envy your choice," he said in a sour manner, drifting off into memories.

Draco frowned. "What do you mean you envy my choice?"

Snape dragged himself back from the past. "That's none of your concern," he said. "But there's one last thing I should tell you. You know now that the Dark Lord ordered me to murder Professor Dumbledore."

"Yes."

"It would have been your mission had things happened differently, had you followed in Lucius' footsteps," he said. "Take care, Mr. Malfoy." And with not another word, Snape turned and apparated away.

Draco stood there for a few moments, Snape's last words running through his head. His friends made their way over to him.

"What'd he have to say?" Neville asked.

"Nothing," Draco muttered, turning to leave.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy," Harry said. "You think we believe that nothing was said?"

"Yeah, tell us, what'd he say," Ron goaded.

"Just something about my mother," he said, drawing his wand and popping back to Haven.

"You two are insufferable," Hermione scolded before following Draco.

* * *

Godric's Hollow stood along the southwestern edge of England a short chaser's throw from Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, and Cornwall. It was nestled among the moors of the West Country. The DA Core popped into existence among the crooked and grown over tombstones of Godric's Hollow's graveyard. Cottages loomed around them, pale light emanating from a select few, figures seen moving about within.

"Why must we always do these things in the middle of the night?" Ron complained quietly, crouched behind a broken tombstone. "And does this say Dumbledore?"

"Because we're wanted fugitives, that's why," Ginny said, moving towards Ron. "And what says Dumbledore?"

Ron pushed a clump of tangled vines away from the gravestone, six other faces crowding around him. "Ariana Dumbledore," he read.

"How interesting," Luna whispered. "Perhaps the Dumbledore family visited Godric's Hollow and met a terrible demise that resulted in their death. It can happen, you know." She glanced about the group.

"Perhaps," Neville said, smiling at her.

"I think I read somewhere that Dumbledore grew up either in or around Godric's Hollow," she explained. "Though I can't remember where I read that." She tapped her chin, gazing upwards.

"I wonder who else is buried here," Harry wondered suddenly, standing up.

"Are you thinking..." Ginny looked up at him.

He nodded. "They died here," he said. "So, they must be buried here." Moving away, he began inspecting the surrounding grave markers.

"You really think this is a good idea? Shouldn't we just find the locket and get out of here?" Neville worried at the hem of his shirt, darting his gaze around the graveyard as if he expected Deatheaters or Lord Voldemort, himself, to appear.

"Longbottom has a point," Draco said. "The longer we take, the greater a chance that something will go wrong."

"It'll just take a minute, Malfoy," Harry said.

"Oh, I'm sure, Potter," he drawled in response, rolling his eyes.

"I'll keep a lookout," Ron offered.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said pointedly, glaring at Draco as he used his wand to clear the face of one headstone.

Grumbling to himself, Draco shook his head.

_**What's up? You sense something?**_ Hermione glanced over at Draco.

_**Not necessarily**_, he replied.

_**What's the harm, then? They're his parents.**_

_** Yeah, yeah, I know.**_ He tapped his foot, brushing the handle of his wand, eyes on a steady roam of their surroundings.

_**You're nervous.**_

_** Aren't you?**_

She laughed ruefully, opening up her side of the connection. A flood of anxiety washed over Draco. His head turned towards her. _**We're awfully exposed outside of Haven**_, she said.

_**We can't stay holed up forever.**_

_** I know. There's a war we have to fight.**_

He smiled softly at her. _**You're beautiful in the moonlight, you know that?**_

_** Dishing out the compliments, are you?**_

_** Why not? **_Draco grinned at her, rustling his wings.

A few rows over, a quiet exclamation called them over to where the rest of them were huddled around two headstones in particular.

"James Potter and Lily Potter," Ginny read softly.

Harry knelt before their graves, placing a hand on his mother's stone. A stilled silence dropped down around them, all sound falling away in that moment. For a moment, Harry bowed his head. Then, standing, he faced his friends.

"We should move on," he said. "I want to be back at Haven by sunrise."

"Sounds like a good idea," Neville said.

As they began walking, Draco smirked and jabbed Neville in the back. "You're just scared, Longbottom," he taunted.

"Only as scared as you are," Neville replied.

Hermione, privy to what Draco was feeling, wasn't able to hold back her amused snort.

_**Hey, what ever happened to us defending each other?**_ he balked.

_**That was never in the oath**_, she grinned.

Growling softly, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to his side quietly as they traipsed through the village. A road ran through the center of Godric's Hollow, a pub and post office sitting along the village square. In the center of the square, a monument stood. Sprinting between pools of shadow in groups of two or three, the DA Core stopped, wands drawn, at the monument. It shimmered and shifted into the shape of a statue.

"Oi, it's your parents Harry," Ron said, craning his neck to look up at it.

"Hmm, so it is," Hermione said. "You're there too."

Harry stepped back and gazed upwards.

On the other side of the statue, the door to the pub opened, washing light onto the street.

"Someone's coming."

Quickly, they disillusioned themselves, huddled into a pile, as an obviously drunk man toppled out of the pub. Picking himself up, he crossed the street in the direction of the monument. Wands were drawn, eyes following the stooped figure as he zigzagged across the cobbled street. Making it to the other side, he hiccuped, stumbled, and caught himself on a lightpost.

"Ruddy lightpost," he mumbled, kicking it before moving on down the street and out of sight.

Hearts pounding, they let out a whoosh of air, eyes flicking from one person to the next.

"That was close," Neville said.

"It was only a muggle," Draco said, dismissively.

"Still," Harry said. "I'd rather we stay undetected."

"And you don't know if or if not it was _only a muggle_, love," Hermione said.

"And muggles can be quite dangerous," Luna added.

"Ok, ok, fine, I'm glad we avoided the dangerous muggle," Draco said.

Eyes rolled and the DA Core moved on, slinking through the night.

As they passed one cottage in particular, the lawn neatly manicured, Hermione leaned over and whispered in Draco's ear, "I've heard Bathilda Bagshot lives here," she said, gesturing to the house.

"Who?" Draco asked.

Ron glanced over. "Yeah, who's that? And how do you know she lives here."

Hermione huffed. "She's the author of _A History of Magic_. Don't you two read?"

"Yes," Draco said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Ron merely grumbled something or other about them not being in Hogwarts but still being lectured at.

"Right," she said, shaking her head. "Anyways, I read that she lives in Godric's Hollow."

"And you think this is her house?"

She pointed to the post box where, _Bathilda Bagshot_, was scribed. "It's written right there," she said.

"How interesting," Ron monotoned.

"Oh, just shut it, Ronald," she snapped, speeding up to keep pace with Ginny.

The Potter's cottage sat near the end of the road right before it dissolved into country farmland. With the yard grossly overgrown with weeds and the second story of the house reduced to mere remains, it was obvious no one had lived there since the Potter's. The front gate creaked and wobbled, threatening to fall to the ground as Harry pushed it open.

"Shh," Ginny hissed, casting a quick _silencio_ on the gate's hinges.

Harry glanced back at Ginny before setting foot on the crumbled front walkway, his friends following.

"It's so sad," Hermione whispered, stepping over scattered debris.

Draco took her hand, craning his neck upwards. "I would have to agree," he said.

"It's history frozen in time," Luna said wistfully before stooping down and picking something up.

"What did find something?" Neville asked quietly, peering over her shoulder.

"Just a broken picture frame."

"Is there a picture still there?" Harry asked hastily, reaching out for the frame.

"No, not any more," she said, handing him the wooden frame, the glass having been broke and scattered long ago.

Harry's lips turned downwards in disappointment, discarding the picture frame.

The front door still stood, the walls of the first story intact. A post box sat beside the door, _The Potter's_ written upon it. Harry lifted the top, peering inside.

"Nothing," he said, turning to the door.

It wasn't locked, opening crookedly as he turned the handle. An aged and unkempt odor drifted out the door, smelling of must, mold, and mildew. It prickled their noses.

"You think it's safe."

"I don't think there's any Deatheaters," Harry said.

"They would have attacked us by now," Neville theorized.

Draco nodded. "We would have definitely have known of their presence."

"No," Hermione said. "Structurally, do you think it's safe?"

Harry shrugged. "Not sure." He glanced at her and then crossed the threshold.

A staircase faced the front door, a hole blasted through the center. To the right, what once had been the living room exhibited extensive water damage, the front picture window missing, glass scattered across the carpet. The DA Core spread out. A fireplace sat against the far wall, broken pictures that had once sat on the mantle scattered across the hearth. Harry stooped down, picking up one frame that appeared to have skirted the destruction save for a small crack in one corner. Standing up, he flipped it over, an image of the living room prior to the attack meeting him.

"Try tapping the frame," Ginny offered, resting her chin on his shoulder.

With his wand, Harry tapped the edge of the frame. "Nothing," he said, shrugging.

"No, look." She pointed to the corner of the frame where two adults suddenly appeared. One held a baby with messy, black hair, the other making funny faces. The baby giggled.

"That's Sirius," he said, pointing to the man holding his baby self. "And that must be...that must be my father." He held the picture closer to his face, grinning as James reached out for baby Harry, making googly eyes. The Harry in the photo laughed.

"I think you should keep it," Ginny said.

Harry nodded, hugging the photo to his chest.

Hermione rooted through the kitchen, the table and chairs broken into pieces while the contents of what had been in the cupboards and drawers strewn about the floor. She stepped daintily through the broken plates, pots and pans, shattered jars, and other kitchen paraphernalia.

"Where would Professor Snape hide a locket?" she asked, reaching up to push aside some unbroken glasses in one cupboard.

Draco, who crouched before the cupboard underneath the sink, shrugged. "Not sure," he said.

The DA Core made their way slowly through the house, their shoes tracking across the disintegrating carpet. When nothing resembling a locket turned up, they headed into the backyard.

"Wait, why is this familiar?"

"You're right."

"I feel like I've been here before."

"No, not been here," Hermione said, stepping into the backyard.

Recollection dawned on Ginny's face. "We've all seen this backyard before."

"The window in the sitting room," Neville blurted out. "This is the yard outside that window."

"The window looks out onto Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked.

Even a cursory glanced would reveal that the Potter's backyard was indeed the yard viewed through the sitting room windows. The overgrown lawn and bushes were the same, even down to the tree with the old swing. It was all the same and definitely the yard outside the sitting room windows. Mouths hung open at the prospects of Dumbledore's house, of Haven, of the secret that made the house possible.

"How is this possible?" Neville asked.

"Logically, it's not," Hermione said.

Ron shook his head. "I don't understand Dumbledore."

Hermione ventured outside, the rest of everybody following her, filing out the door and into the backyard. Draco hovered close to her shoulder.

_**This isn't supposed to be possible,**_ she said to him.

Draco turned in a small circle. _**Yeah, completely impossible. I'm trying to figure out the exact spot where the sitting room windows would be.**_

_** What?**_

_** The sitting room windows look out onto this backyard. I'm trying to determine their vantage point.**_

_** Hmm**_, Hermione hummed, glancing around. _**Over by that fence?**_

Draco turned. _**Perhaps. Yeah,**_ he said, taking a few steps backward. _**They would be here. **_He glanced upwards, sniffing the air.

Suddenly, from the other end of the fence, a figure appeared, hovering a foot above the withered grass.

"Severus said you'd be coming."

Stumbling over each other, the DA Core gasped collectively, drawing their wands. A woman stood before them in semi-transparency.

Harry was the first to react, his expression dawning recognition. Slowly, he straighted up and studied the ghost floating before him. He knew her; he definitely knew her.

The ghost smiled. "And you're Harry. My Harry," she sighed, reaching out with a hand to brush against his cheek.

Harry shivered.

"Lily Potter," Hermione whispered in disbelief. "Good Lord, it's Lily Potter's ghost."

"It's the locket you're looking for, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "It is."

Lily smiled faintly, turning to look at the house for a moment. When she turned back, she had a funny look on her face, her eyes squinting and her head tilted. "Have you seen James? He was to tend to the trick-or-treaters while I got Harry dressed," she asked, sighing and glancing around. "He's gone off with Sirius again, hasn't he?"

The DA Core eyed Lily uncomfortably, her ghost living half in and half out of the present. She smiled softly, reaching out a hand towards Harry.

"You look just like him," she said. "My James."

"I'm Harry."

"Yes, my Harry all grown up," she said, stroking the side of his face again, sending chills down Harry's spine.

"It's the locket you seek, but I must ask you to do something in return for me," she said. "My sister, Petunia. Do you know her?"

He nodded, staring at the ground. "I live with her."

"It's all gone wrong." Lily closed her eyes as if pained. "So much wronged," she said. "So, so, much wronged in your short life."

"But things turned out alright," he said.

"Yes, I guess they did," she said, looking at the rest of the DA Core. "Your friends are your family, then. Petunia was a wonderful sister until we learned that I was a witch. She was jealous of me and of the attention our parents gave me." Lily shook her head. "But she was still my sister, dear Tuney, she was." She sighed. "She wronged me in every way imaginable, but she's still my sister. The Second War is happening, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Voldemort has control of the Ministry and Hogwarts."

Lily smiled. "Your father was never scared to say his name. You're so brave," she said affectionately.

Harry smiled bashfully.

"But I fear for Petunia's life," Lily continued on.

"We can check on her, Lily," Ginny said.

Lily turned to Ginny and smiled. "Red hair," she said, running a finger through Ginny's hair. "You Potter boys and your redheads."

Harry laughed. "Just like dad, right?"

She nodded. "That reminds me, I must find your father. We're taking Harry trick-or-treating tonight."

The DA Core shifted nervously and Lily smiled.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Potter," Hermione said, stepping forward.

Draco reached out and slipped his hand into hers, a safety line, not wanting his bonded out of reach, even if she was only speaking with a ghost, the ghost of Harry's mother.

Lily smiled. "Yes, dear?"

"We came looking for something," she said. "A locket that..."

"Yes, the locket," she said. "Severus did hide it here. It's on the second floor, in our bedroom. There's a false bottom to one of the drawers in our wardrobe."

"The second floor?" Ginny asked, remembering the hole blasted into the staircase.

Lily smiled. "Don't worry over the staircase," she said. "It's merely an illusion. And don't mind the racket from Harry's room. Severus insisted on all these protection charms."

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly.

"Of course," she said. "Oh, and good luck. May the Light always win. That was James' motto." Quietly, she drifted away.


	61. Matertera Problema

**Author's Note - **And...we have another chapter. Hope you enjoy it! It's kinda sad.

**Another Note** - The title means, "The Aunt's Problem," in Latin, but I really wished I could have had, "The Aunt's Dilemma," but I couldn't find a translation for 'dilemma.'

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That is mine.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty One**

"Matertera Problema"

* * *

The Dark Mark glowed in the sky over Number 4 Privet Drive. Neighbors and passing motorists gawked at the green skull with the snake weaving in and out of its mouth. Their hands drifted to their mouths, mutterings about today's youth and concessions to contact the authorities passing between them. They had never seen such a sight, and it being out of the ordinary on their ever so ordinary street, they pegged it on today's youth, the houligans and good-for-nothing teenagers vandalizing again. For them, it could be nothing else, their minds implanting exactly what had happened. And, for them, perhaps an hour or so later, after careful memory modification, they wouldn't even remember the green skull hovering over Number 4.

The DA Core popped into the side yard of Number 6, crouched against the side of the house. Near silence met their arrival, the minutest sound being carried away on the gentle wind that occupied the night.

"What the bloody hell," Ron cursed, wide eyes unable to tear away from the glowing skull.

"Shite, shite, shite," Harry cursed, crab walking forward to peer around the tall wooden fence that separated the two yards. His stomach churned with an emotion he never thought he'd feel in regards to his relatives: worry.

"We need to get in there before the Muggle police come or before the Ministry gets here," Hermione said.

Wands were drawn all around, fingers gripping the handles, knuckles white.

"We can hop over the fence into my Aunt's backyard," Harry whispered, his eyes pulled open, watching for anything and everything.

The fence dividing the two yards was almost to their shoulders, it being well over Luna's head. Boosting himself up, Harry landed in the soft dirt of his aunt's flower bed, squishing her newly planted roses. On the other side of the fence, Ron and Draco linked their fingers together, creating a platform for the others to be lifted from. Glancing at her bonded, Hermione braced herself on his shoulder, placing one sneakered foot onto their hands. Eyes directed upwards, she counted to three in her head as the boys counted outloud.

_**Ready, love?**_ Draco said into her mind on three.

With a surge upwards, she grabbed the top of the fence with her armpits, throwing her legs over and tumbling none too gracefully into the dirt. Harry's steady hand prevented her from toppling.

_**I'm over**_, she said back to Draco.

Over the course of the next two minutes, Neville followed Luna, who crashed into his arms, and Ginny tumbled into the Dursley's yard. Ron and Draco hurtled themselves over afterward, Draco landing with practiced grace, his wings jutted out for added balance. The seven of them formed a huddle, crouched against the fence, their knees sinking into the soft earth.

"Are there Deatheaters still inside?" Ginny asked, craning her neck around.

No movements were detecting inside, no sounds, no nothing.

Harry shook his head. "Hard to tell," he said. "Draco, you feel anything?"

Draco furrowed his brow, concentrating and shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "But that might not mean much."

"Well, we can't just sit here," Ron said. "And even if your aunt, uncle, and cousin are in there, Harry, I hope they're ok."

Ginny nodded. "As rotten as they are," she said. "I hope nothing happened to them."

They sat in silence for a brief moment, thinking and plotting away in their heads. Then, with a quick whispered exchange of ideas, Harry and Ron set out across the expanse of grass towards the back door. Following, Ginny and Luna did the same, crouched low. Neville carried on by himself, dashing to the relative safety of the back patio. Draco and Hermione came last, sprinting hand in hand across the grass. The back of the house was shadowed, their own shadows blended into the house's shadow. Harry slowly opened the back screen door, the hinges squeaking.

"_Silencio_," Ginny cast, the hinges silent.

Harry cast her a quick glance.

The back door was unlocked, opening into the kitchen with little noise. Silently, the DA Core filed in, closing it behind them. The house was utterly silent, not a single sound.

"I smell blood," Draco whispered. "And..."

"Is that gun powder?" Neville asked as a high pitched scream startled all seven of them.

From somewhere in the dark, a gun went off, the bullet screaming over their heads. Wands were pointed in various directions, spells cast in a mish mosh of screaming until Ginny found the light switch, flicking it on.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry wheezed, holding his chest as he panted with adrenaline.

Everybody froze. Petunia stood in the doorway of the kitchen that lead into the hallway, her flowered house coat smeared with blood, her hair frenzied, and a pistol pointed at the seven teenagers.

"Harry?" she whispered, the pistol dropping from her hand, swinging on one finger. Weakly, she set it on the counter.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he asked.

His aunt trembled, smoothing down her clothing. "They came into my house," she said, her voice wobbling. "They barged right in, their...their...their wands pointed at my Dudders and me."

"Who did?" Harry asked.

"They did. The...the Deatheaters," she whispered, sniffling. "They're gone, well save but one, but he's not going anywhere." She giggled manically. "Can't go anywhere. I've dealt with him."

Harry glanced at Ron and then at Ginny. "What happened? Where is he?"

"I've dealt with him," she repeated. "He's been dealt with. He's...he killed...he, oh good lord." Petunia sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs, her hand to her heart and breaths entering and exiting her lungs rapidly.

Wand in hand, Harry, Ron, Draco, and Neville exchanged a glance. The girls hovered around Harry's aunt.

"We'll be back," Harry said, exiting the kitchen.

In the hallway, a great smear of blood marred the floral wall paper, the vase that normally sat on the wooden table against the wall smashed on the floor. The blood, smeared down the wall, continued towards the kitchen.

"There was blood on the kitchen floor, right?" Ron asked.

"I believe so," Draco said, turning into the living room.

"She killed him," Ron said.

"That's what I gathered," Harry said faintly.

"Where's his body, then?"

"My guess is, since the blood trail goes through the kitchen and out the door, that she dumped him outside somewhere," Harry said, aiming his wand at the walls and the floor, turning the corner into the living room.

"Oh good Merlin," Neville muttered, covering his mouth as he pointed his lumosed wand into the living room.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the sight in the living room, his stomach lurching. He covered his mouth and nose with one hand, hoping he wouldn't succumb to the disgusting tendency of his stomach to reject it's contents upon sight of a dead human.

_**What? What is it?**_ Hermione asked from the other end of their connection.

_** Harry's cousin, at least I think it's Harry's cousin, is dead.**_

_** Oh no**_, she moaned. _**Are you sure?**_

Harry hovered over his cousin's body, his beefy hands limp, his jowls glossy with sweat, and his eyes staring up at the ceiling. An awful stench rose from his dead body, one of death.

_**He's as dead as dead can be**_, Draco answered.

Footsteps approached from the kitchen. Hermione grabbed Draco's arm.

"Oh God, he's dead," she said, crouching down.

"I'm guessing he's been AKed," Harry said monotonously.

From the kitchen, Petunia wailed, Ginny and Luna's hushed voices calming her down.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Standing, she left the room, hand over her mouth. Draco followed her back to the kitchen, one hand on her back.

"Who's dead?" Ginny asked, looking up.

"Dudley," Hermione answered faintly.

Petunia buried her face in her hands. "I'm a horrendous mother. I was supposed to protect him. Oh, my Dudders, my Duddlykins," she said. "What am I going to do? What'll the neighbors think? Oh, they've been talking already."

"I don't think the neighbors are the most of your concern right now," Draco said to her.

She looked at him and he returned her look dead on. Petunia's chin wobbled, her eyes sliding to the left as Harry, Ron, and Neville reentered the kitchen, Dudley's dead body trailing idly behind them.

"What should we do with him?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose slightly at the sight of it.

"Where's Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked.

"My Dudders," Petunia cried, reaching out for her son.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "Where's Uncle Vernon?"

"Harry, I don't think..." Ginny began.

Harry held up one hand. "Aunt Petunia," he said, shaking her shoulder.

She looked up. "What?"

"Where's Uncle Vernon?"

"Vernon?" she asked before dissolving into another mess of tears. "He's gone." Dropping her face into her hands once more, she began to cry.

"What do you mean gone?" Harry asked, ignoring his aunt's obvious state of emotional despair.

Petunia looked up and hiccuped. "He left me," she explained. "Claimed that my mind had gone to the freaks and that he wouldn't stand for his wife to be gallivanting with Them."

Harry frowned. "What?"

Reaching over, Petunia grabbed a stack of papers that had been sitting on the kitchen table. Shuffling through them, she presented the most recent issue of The Revolution. "I've been following what's been going on in your world," she said. "I had to know what was going on and...and..." She paused, taking in a hurried breath of air. "And I had to know if you were alright. I know of the prophecy, the prophecy about you and...and that monster."

Harry stood dumbfounded in the middle of the blood streaked tiled kitchen. "You were worried about me?" he asked.

His aunt peered up at him. "You're the savior of the Wizarding world, they say," she said. "Certainly if the Wizarding world falls, my world falls with it."

"Ok," Harry said, glancing at his friends.

"This is a war, right? The Second War?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Dursley," she said. "We're at war."

Petunia reached into the pocket of her house coat, extracting a tissue. She wiped her nose.

Harry regarded Ginny. "What do we do now?" he asked her.

"We can't leave her here," Draco said over Ginny's head.

Ginny shook her head. "Definitely not."

"Haven is large enough for all of us," Luna spoke up. "Why don't we bring her to Haven?"

Glances were exchanged and a quick agreement was made.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry said.

"Yes?" she answered.

"We're going to take you with..."

A large explosion shook the house, Neville loosing his balance and falling over. Knocking into Luna, she went down at well, pulling Ron and Draco down as well.

"What the..."

Shouts echoed from outside, flashes of light visible from the windows. Hearts began to race and the DA Core scrambled to their feet. Petunia began to cry, her hands shaking.

"Oh no, they're back. They're back!"

"We have to leave. Now!" Harry yelled.

"What about him?" Ron asked, pointing at Harry's cousin.

"No time," Harry said, grabbing his aunt's arm. "Close your eyes Aunt Petunia," he instructed.

His aunt wailed, but listened.

At the front of the house, another explosion sounded, bits of wood and furniture blasting into the kitchen. Concentrating, the DA Core took a collective breath and disappeared just as a group of Deatheaters barged into the kitchen. They regarded the dead Muggle, the blood, and the discarded issue of The Revolution fluttering to the ground, and cursed.

* * *

In the middle of the night, eight people appeared in Haven's kitchen along with a jumble of screams and wails. Their arms and legs entangled with each other, undignified oomphs carrying with their arrival. Hermione landed atop of Draco, her face buried in his wing and her arms entangled with Ginny's hair. Her mind worked it self around and around, cataloging and organizing the event that just took place. As it did so, in it's usual methodological manner, a rather nasty and terrifying notion popped into her mind. It was a thought that was so frightening, that Draco flinched.

_**What is it?**_ he asked almost fearfully, a strange emotion tacked onto his broadcasted thought when it was coming from him.

_**My parents**_, she replied, staring at him with horror in her eyes. _**If they can get to Harry's relatives, what about my parents? Surely they can get to them. Oh God.**_ Hands wavering to her face as the rest of the DA Core got to their feet, she remained on the ground.

_**Ok, calm down,**_ he said, stooping down and grabbing her by her armpits, hauling her upwards.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked immediately, seeing Hermione's face.

"My parents," she said weakly. "I need to check on my parents, see if they're ok."

"Then we'll check on your parents," Ginny said, guiding Petunia into one of the kitchen chairs.

The coo coo clock above the table chimed two o'clock in the morning, Petunia screaming.

"Yeah, we'll check on them, Hermione," Neville said, standing up and nodding at the bushy haired girl.

"Wait," Harry said. "We can't all go."

"Harry's right," Draco said, glancing at Hermione. "So, Hermione and I will go. I've been to her house before. I know where it is and I'll be able to apparate there."

Hermione clung to his side, her mind focused on the one terrifying thought.

_**I'm sure they're fine, love,**_ Draco said to her as he detailed out their plan to check on her parents.

_**Oh, I'm so stupid. Why didn't I think of this previously**_, she berated herself.

_**Maybe because previously we were stuck in this house and had no way of getting out,**_ he said. _** Before we learned to apparate, that is.**_

Hermione sighed. _**I should have thought of a way. How could I not have?**_

_**Stop beating yourself up about this,**_ he demanded, giving her a look.

"Ok," Harry said. "Two hours. After two hours, if you're not back, we're coming after you."

Draco nodded. "Agreed."

Hermione looked up. "I'm sure it'll be less than two hours," she said. "We're just checking on them."

"Still," Harry said.

"Be safe," Ginny said, touching Hermione's arm.

The DA Core, having spent the last three months together, was suddenly hit with the anxiety and worry of two of their friends leaving the house and venturing out into the dangerous world. They hadn't previously realized just how attached they were to each other, no matter the amount of fighting and verbal spats they got into with each other on an almost daily basis. Parting with two of their friends had become frightening and almost painful, both evident in the drawn and scared faces as Hermione and Draco popped away.

* * *

Just as it was at the Dursley's house, another Dark Mark hung in the sky over Hermione's house. An entire squad of Muggle authorities, their vehicles parked haphazardly on the street with the lights spiraling through the neighborhood, had arrived at an undetermined time prior to Hermione and Draco's arrival. Upon seeing the Dark Mark, it's green light reflecting off the roof, she barely stifled a pained scream, resorting to moaning and sinking into the grass behind one of her neighbor's bushes.

_** We're too late**_, she said painfully, rocking back and forth. _**We're late, too late. Oh God, Draco...**_

Draco knelt beside her, the bush concealing their presence from the Muggles filtering into and out of the house. Yellow tape wound through the yard, men and women in official attire standing guard on the property. He gently let his wings expand, wrapping one around her body, one hand resting on her lower back. There was nothing to say.

_**They're dead**_, she moaned. _**Draco, I just know they're dead.**_

He pressed his lips together in a solemn expression. I don't know what to say, Hermione, he said to her. There wasn't any way to reassure her that her parents were not in fact dead, for any wizard or witch knew when the Dark Mark hovered in the sky, death was not too far away.

Tears washed down her face. _**I knew I should have checked on them. This is all my fault. I **__**did this. I was stupid and I should have made sure they were safe. All my fault...**_

_**Should have, could have, would have. This isn't your fault, Hermione,**_ he said into her mind, trying to calm her down, though to no avail.

_**How is this not my fault?**_ She turned to look at him.

_**Did you kill them?**_ he asked simply.

Hermione sighed and shook her head, looking away.

_**Hermione, answer me.**_

_** No, I didn't kill them.**_

_** Alright then. How I see it is we can't do anything until the Muggle authorities leave**_, he said.

_** What do we do then?**_

_**We'll go inside, check things out**_, he said. _**At the very least, at least you'll know what happened.**_

_** My parents are dead**_, she said quietly.

He reached out and took her into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of her head. His insides ached for her, both from his own emotions and those leaking into his from her own. The Muggle authorities remained at Hermione's house for what felt like hours, and Draco kept checking his watch, watching the hour hand slowly move from two to three in the morning. Finally, finished with whatever they were doing in there, the Muggle authorities closed up the house, leaving the yellow police tape in place, and drove away. The street was quiet once more.

_**Come on**_, he said, taking Hermione's arm, pulling her up.

Slowly, they crept past the bushes and entered her backyard, the front yard being too exposed. Draco felt his shoulders tense, his hand clamp down around his wand. Hermione followed closely behind, and he could hear her sniffling and quiet sobs. Reaching backwards, he grabbed her hand, the gesture as much a comfort for him as reassurance for her.

_**I'm here**_, he said as they approached the backdoor. _**I'm not going anywhere.**_

The back door was open, and Hermione simply turned the knob, the door swinging open into the kitchen. Everything was dark, shafts of moonlight hitting upon the refrigerator and stove. Draco glanced at the reflective light, memories of baking cookies flitting into his mind. However, an eerie stillness had settled into the house, left behind by the Muggle authorities. Moving through the kitchen, she grabbed his hand as they entered the living room.

"Oh God," Hermione breathed, her hand going to her mouth. She retched, Draco grabbing her as she dropped to her knees.

The moonlight illuminated the circle painted on the hardwood floor, care having been taken to not get any of it on the throw rug underneath the sofa. Redness was reflected in the light.

"That isn't...Draco, tell me that isn't..." she pleaded, leaning into him.

"It's blood," he said.

Hermione retched again, her stomach convulsing at the sight of the blood drawn circle. Runes were methodically drawn around the outer edge of the circle. A footprint remained, faint but still visible. Inside the circle, a white outline of two bodies were laid out. Hermione closed her eyes, squeezing them shut against the image. Slowly, Draco helped her to her feet, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

_**I think we need to get out of here**_, he said to her.

Hermione nodded, her eyes squinting open to gaze at the runes and the circle once more before snapping shut. She allowed Draco to lead her back outside. The cool night air brushed against her skin, Hermione pushing her hair back and taking in a deep breath. She turned and faced Draco, her head bowed and rested her forehead against his chest.

_**Please tell me this isn't real**_, she asked of him.

Draco sighed heavily, combing his fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck. _**I think this is happening, Hermione**_, he answered back.

She pressed into him. _**Please, Draco, please just tell me.**_

_**I can't do that, love,**_ he said. _**I'm so sorry.**_

Hermione began to cry, an audible and loud noise that seemed to tear out of her. It hurt, physically hurt Draco to listen to his mate cry in such a manner.

_**Oh, I don't feel so good**_, she groaned, gripping her head in her hands, her knees growing weak.

"Whoa," Draco uttered, Hermione growing limp and heavy, he lowering her to the ground.

She folded in on herself as the world swirled around her. Grabbing at her head, everything pounded and throbbed to a pulsating beat. An inhuman, almost animalistic sound came from Hermione as she pressed herself against Draco's side. All he could do was hold her, his eyes casting upwards at the nighttime sky, the green Dark Mark still glowing, having yet to fade.


	62. Post Modum

**Author's Note - **Yeah, I know, this is late, but what else is new? My clinicals are over for the semester and I'm on Spring Break, so I can finally think about something other than school for a while. That's really all. Hope you like this chapter. Drop a review and let me know what you think.

**Another Note** - The title is supposed to mean, "Aftermath," in Latin, but it really means, "Afterward," because there is no translation for "Aftermath," and I thought "Post Modum" sounded appropriate. So there!

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That is mine.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Two**

"Post Modum"

* * *

Petunia paced the rooms of Haven early the next morning, her hands wringing together nervously. Eyes pulled wide, she peered out the various windows, her mind not able to make sense of what she was seeing. She stopped at the sitting room windows, her fingers grazing the wooden trim as she watched the pale, misty figure trail idly through the backyard.

"Lily?" she whispered, her voice barely there.

She shook her head, turning away from the window, from the image, from whatever was outside. Standing in the center of the sitting room, the house quiet with everybody sleeping, she couldn't help but let the thoughts run through her head. Where was her Dudley? Surely he wasn't dead. That body wasn't his. It was a trick, magic cast by somebody. An image of a hooded face flitted through her mind and Petunia shook it from her thoughts. Bulging eyes cast about wildly and she felt her throat contract. No, she wouldn't cry. Enough tears had been shed when Vernon left, when the door slammed shut, his words still vibrating within the walls of her house. Oh how the neighbors had talked. It curdled Petunia's blood knowing how the neighbors had spoken of her and her husband. What were they saying now?

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," she muttered, walking from one end of the sitting room to the other.

Her eyes swiveled up to the portrait of the pixie-like girl sitting serenely above the roaring fireplace. The warmth of it seeped into her skin. Petunia stared at the painting, for perhaps too long for the girl winked and smiled, waving a few fine-boned fingers at Petunia. Gasping, Petunia tore her eyes away. Surely she wasn't going crazy; crazy was for people who spoke to themselves, people who saw things, people who believed irrational and crazy notions about the world.

From across the house, a door opened and Petunia froze, her eyes snapping around. Listening, she detected as the door closed, footsteps pattered down the hall, and another door opening and closing. Quietly, she peeked around the corner and down the hallway. The hallway was empty and she moved down it. Stopping outside of one of the doors, she startled as it opened.

"Oh, hello," the boy said awkwardly. He had brown hair and a rounded face.

Petunia knew she'd been introduced to him the previous night, but couldn't for the life of her place his name.

"Mrs. Dursley, right?" he asked. "Harry's aunt."

Having a question to focus on, Petunia nodded her head. "Yes, I'm Harry's aunt," she said. "What was your name, again?"

"Neville," he said.

"Oh, right, Neville," she said.

Neville smiled faintly, gave her a little wave, and disappeared through another door at the end of the hall. Petunia stared after him for a moment before her attention was drawn back to the door. Faint sobbing came from within the room, sobbing followed by soft, comforting words that tried in vain to quell the tears, to comfort, and to sooth away a grief that had just begun. Petunia didn't remember much from the previous night, only bits and pieces. However, she remembered sitting in the kitchen when Draco and Hermione had returned. The poor girl, she had thought. Glancing at the door, Petunia sighed and turned down the hallway back towards the sitting room. The kitchen she remembered was just off of that room, and she figured if for nothing else, cooking breakfast would give her some semblance of normality, and normality was in great demand.

* * *

Hermione coughed and pressed herself closer to Draco. She couldn't get close enough to him, to the constant and steady stream of heat that poured from him to her. Nothing seemed to make the horrible and horrendous ache go away. It hurt, like having her insides torn out. It made her want to wither up, crawl into a hole, and weep. She clung to his clothes, buried her face in his chest, grabbing at him in her agony. All night had been one terror after another going through her head, sleep far away, sleep for those not suffering.

As the sun rose, washing away the darkness, she quieted. Her throat was raw, her eyes puffy, skin splotchy, and body limp and weak. Hermione lay beside Draco, his fingers idly running through her hair, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and even. A gentle prod at his mind showed that he was far from sleeping, his mind still cranking and whirling around. The door to Draco's room opened, Ginny creeping inside.

"She awake?" she whispered, Draco cracking one eyelid.

"I'm awake," Hermione croaked, tilting her head up. "Hi, Ginny."

"Hey, Hermione," Ginny said, sitting down on the bed.

Hermione gave her a watery smile and pushed herself more upright in bed. Draco sighed, nesting further into the covers, his arm thrown over his head. "Morning," she said to Ginny.

The red headed girl scooted closer to her friend, grabbing her hands. "Are you alright," she asked, concern in her eyes, before shaking her head. "I mean, of course you're not. You just lost your parents, but..." Ginny trailed off, glancing to the side before looking Hermione in the eye. "We all love you. Are you going to be ok?"

Her lips quivered and Hermione glanced down at her hands. "I suppose I will. I'm not the only person in the world to loose both parents in one go," she said. "They all carry on, don't they?"

Ginny nodded. "They do," she said. Sighing, she glanced upwards and then at Draco. "He's sleeping?"

Hermione glanced behind her where he for all intents and purposes appeared to be deeply asleep. "Kinda," she said. "We had a rough night."

Draco groaned, bending his knees and turning his head to the side.

"He's tired," she said after gently prodding his mind.

"It was a crazy night," the red head said.

"Yeah, crazy indeed."

"What do you think this all means?" Ginny said. "Everything last night."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "What it always means," she said.

Understanding what Hermione meant, Ginny nodded. "It can't last forever," she said. "We will win. Harry can't lose."

"I hope not," Hermione whispered.

Behind them, the door opened again, Ron and Harry entering.

Hermione glanced up at them and smiled, or rather tried to smile. Tears leaked from her eyes and she ducked her head, wiping at her face. "Oh Merlin, I just can't stop," she wept, rubbing at her eyes.

"It's alright, Hermione," Ron said, perching himself on the edge of the bed.

Harry sat down next to Ron, all five of them on the bed. "We're here for you," Harry said.

Beside Hermione, Draco reached out with his arms and wrapped them around his mate's waist. "And I love you," he said groggily, eyes still closed and his body turned towards hers.

Pulling the sleeve of her shirt over her hand, Hermione wiped at the tears still leaking from her eyes. "I love you too, Draco," she replied before turning to Harry and Ron. "And you two and you Ginny."

"We'll be your family," Ginny said. "You won't be alone."

Harry shook his head. "Never alone," he said.

Neville, who had been in Luna's room, and Luna entered the room then, adding to the pile on the bed, all seven DA Core members crowded on Draco's bed, offering words of comfort to Hermione. Midway through the morning, perhaps an hour after Ginny had entered the room, the aroma of cooking sausages and eggs drifted into Draco and Neville's room. Hungry, the DA Core meandered into the kitchen in one large group. Petunia stood at the stove, a frying pan with eggs cooking on the stove. Taking the pan, a spatula in her hand, she turned at they entered the kitchen and dropped the frying pan, the eggs scattering across the floor and the frying pan hitting the tiled floor with a resonating clang.

"He...he...he..." she said, pointing at Draco before her eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped to the floor.

Ron turned around and gawked up at Draco, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

"Oh," Luna said, stooping down next to Petunia, her eyes angled up at the rest of the DA Core. "His wings," she said. "I don't think she's ever seen someone with wings before. What do you think?"

"_Ennervate_," Ginny said, briefly pointing her wand at Harry's aunt.

Harry reached down and grabbed his aunt's hand.

"What happened?" she asked faintly, hand on her head.

"You fainted, Aunt Petunia," he answered.

"I saw, or at least I think I saw..." she began, being led to the kitchen chair as Neville cleaned up the kitchen floor with a quick swipe of his wand.

Draco scratched his head and smiled at her.

Petunia's eyes widened. "Wings, he's got...he's got wings," she said, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes stretched wide open.

"Yeah, he's a mutant," Ron explained, sitting down.

"Ron!" Ginny scolded, stooping down to pick up the frying pan. She placed it back on the stove.

"Is this...is this normal?" Petunia asked, studying Draco with fear on her face.

Ron snorted.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but it was Harry who answered. "Not usually, no," he said. "But he won't hurt you," he said, reading the brewing fear behind her eyes.

"Good Lord," she muttered. "A boy with wings."

Draco smiled again. "I promise, Mrs. Dursley," he said holding up his hands in placation. "I won't hurt you."

Harry's aunt tilted her head to the side, the fear turning into almost curiosity. "What are you, exactly?"

"I'm called an Ignius," he explained, sitting down next to the older woman and explaining further his species and where he came from, Petunia listening to his every word.

"It's strange," Harry muttered to Ron.

"What's strange, mate?"

"Her," he said. "My aunt."

Ron studied the blond woman, her neck long and slightly awkward. "Yes, strange I can see," he said, a wry grin cracked on his face.

Harry punched Ron. "No, you idiot," he said. "I just...it's weird to see her here."

Considering the woman, currently speaking with Ginny as she gestured to the pan and the cupboards, Ron nodded. "Yes, definitely out of the ordinary," he said, grinning at Harry.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "I grew up thinking of her one way, hating me. She would have rather died than be seen near anything even related to magic," he said glancing at his best mate. "But maybe she doesn't hate me, maybe she never hated me at all."

"She was reading The Revolution," Ron pointed out.

"This is all too weird."

* * *

After a late breakfast, one in which Petunia learned the ins and outs of the kitchen, everybody retired to either the study or the sitting room. Hermione returned to bed, curling up under the covers, closing her eyes, and praying that sleep would overcome her. Eventually, it did, taking her away for a few hours of blissful sleep that was miraculously free from all dreams. Mid-afternoon, she awoke, confusion muddling her thoughts, though she brushed it away, rolling out of bed.

The majority of the DA Core was parked in the study, books open around them. Normally, she'd comment on their initiative to study without her prodding them along. However, instead, she padded silently over to where Draco was reading in one of the leather chairs, slipped into his lap, and wrapped her arms around him. Sighing, she rested against him. Resting his chin atop her head, he turned the page of his book. The peace and contentment went on in the study for a length of time before Hermione, a thought brewing in her mind, extracted herself from his embrace and scrutinized the shelves of books. Taking _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ down, she returned to Draco's lap.

Hermione paged through the book, flipping pages back and forth until she paused upon one page in particular. "This was what was drawn on the floor, right?" she asked Draco.

Closing his book, Draco took the book from Hermione's hands.

The DA Core, sensing that something was up, convened around the chair.

"Yeah, I think this is it," he said, turning the book ninety degrees and tilting his head. "But...hmm..."

"What?" Hermione asked.

Ginny reached over and adjusted the book so she could see the picture. "What is this?" she asked.

Luna grimaced. "Not good, not good at all," she muttered, shying away from the image on the page.

Ron leaned closer, squinting and reading the text scrawled beneath the diagram. "Figure A - A diagram used to splice the soul and enclose it in a horcrux." He grimaced.

Hermione sighed, taking the book from Draco and slid off his lap. Turning one page back, she read a few paragraphs, flipped the page and looked once again at the diagram. "This is what we saw, right?" she asked Draco.

"I'm almost positive," he said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes watching Hermione. "Except, there wasn't...well, see this?" he asked, looking around at his friends.

He pointed to the outline of a human drawn in the center of the circle, arms and legs splayed outwards and a triad of runes in the center.

"These weren't the runes," Hermione whispered and looked at Draco. "He'd drawn the wrong runes."

"So, it didn't work then?" Ron asked.

"I would assume so," Draco said. "Harry, what do you think?" He turned to the black haired boy.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Whether it worked or not, this means Voldemort's making more horcruxes," he said.

"You think he's onto us?" Neville asked. "That we know his secret about his horcruxes?"

"I would bet on it," Ginny interjected. "I don't think we have much time, either."

"He's desperate," Harry said, rubbing at his scar.

Ginny looked up at him. "You sense that?"

Harry met her eyes and let his hand drop. "No, I have all my shields up," he said. "But if he's making more horcruxes...Merlin, he's bloody insane."

"Maybe this'll totally destroy his soul," Ron said hopefully. "I mean, how many times can you dice your soul up before it gets completely destroyed?"

The DA Core contemplated on Ron's question for a few moments.

"Would it explode, you think?" Hermione asked quietly, almost hesitantly as if speaking of anything even remotely related to her parent's death caused her pain.

"This might work in our favor," Ginny said. "If it explodes."

"That would be neat to watch," Ron said.

Draco snorted, resting the side of his head in his hand.

"What?" Ron asked, his hackles rising.

"For once, Weasley, I agree with you," he said wryly.

* * *

The end of March faded into the beginning of April within the next few days without too much notice except one small incident on the first.

"Oi, who's taken all the towels?" Draco screamed through the house on the morning of April first, peeking his head out of the bathroom door, a billow of steam barging into the hallway.

Petunia, who'd been tidying up her room, a room the house added upon her arrival, walked out into the hallway. "What is going on out here?"

Draco, blushing in embarrassment, slammed the bathroom door.

Down the hall, Ron and Harry erupted into laughter.

Hermione, who'd been laying in bed, cracked her door open in curiosity as the bathroom door opened again. She wiped at her reddened eyes and peered into the hallway.

Draco strutted out into the hallway butt naked, head held high, shoulders thrown back.

"Ugh, Malfoy," Ron screamed.

"Put on some clothes," Harry yelled at the same time, covering his eyes and pretending to vomit.

Hermione secretly covered her mouth, giggling behind it. Ginny poked her head around Hermione's and laughed as Draco stooped down and picked up the bathroom towels that had been thrown into the middle of the hallway.

Draco turned and regarded Ron and Harry. "Well, if you have a problem with this," he said haughtily, gesturing to his lack of clothes. "Then don't steal the towels when I'm taking a shower." Then, chucking the towels at them, he continued on to his room and promptly got dressed.

* * *

The locket they had retrieved from Godric's Hollow sat on one of the corner bookshelves in the study. Nobody dared to touch it considering what was lurking within it's edges. An angry vibe seemed to surround it, contorting and twisting into ugly shapes.

"But we'll need to destroy it," Ginny had said several nights before, holding the locket by the chain. It was warm in her fingers.

"Put it down, Gin," Harry instructed, frowning at the locket.

"If we can find a way into Hogwarts, then we can get a basilisk fang from the Chamber of Secrets," Ginny said, putting the locket down.

"That would be dangerous," Neville said. "Too much of a risk."

"Risk not," Luna said. "Or we'll not win this."

"It's our only option so far," Ginny said.

"There's gotta be another way," Ron sighed, sitting back in one of the study's chairs.

"You can buy basilisk fangs in Knockturn Alley," Draco suggested.

"Now there's an idea," Ginny said.

* * *

It had been decided that only one person should venture out to Knockturn Alley, and that that one person should be Draco.

"Buy why?" Hermione had cried, yelling at Harry.

"Because he knows his way around Knockturn Alley," Harry calmly replied. "And with your connection, we'll have an open line of communication. If anything happens, one of us can apparate in and help him."

Her lip trembled and she drilled holes in the wall with her eyes.

Considering Draco was currently on the Ministry's most wanted list, along with the rest of his friends, certain precautions were required to be taken. Among those precautions was the fabrication of a disguise.

"Muggle over magic," Ginny had said. "Anybody can easily hit him with a _Finite Incantatem._"

Later that afternoon, Harry popped into the bathroom, knocking into Draco who stood in front of the mirror scrutinizing his blond hair.

"Watch it Potter," he scathed.

Ignoring his remark, Harry set a box down on the small bathroom sink. "Here, Hermione," he said, dropping a few notes and coins into her hand.

"Thanks. Anybody see you?" she asked, counting her change and depositing it into her pocket.

"There were only Muggles there," he said. "Nothing suspicious."

"You sure?"

"It was only Somerfield, Hermione," Harry replied.

Grumbling to herself, Hermione let it go.

"Koleston Perfect Hair Color," Ginny read, squeezing between everybody in the bathroom. "So Muggles use this to change their hair color?" She turned the box over, reading the back. "How interesting..."

"You sure this won't be permanent?" Draco asked, turning his head one way and then the other.

Hermione looked up at him from her position seated on the toilet lid. "It shouldn't be," she said, turning to Ginny. "Here, hand me the box."

Ginny handed Hermione the box. "How many were there?" she asked of Harry. "And are there other colors besides brown?"

Harry scratched the back of his head, ruffling up his hair. "There's tons," he said. "And I don't know. I guess there'd be other colors than brown."

Hermione nodded, opening the box, tossing it to the side. "There's every color you can think of," she said.

Ron snorted. "Even blue?" he asked jokingly.

Hermione gave him a wan smile. "Yes, even blue."

"Alright, everybody out," Draco demanded, shooing everybody out except Hermione.

"Aww, but I want to watch," Ron sulked.

"Get out Weasley," Draco replied, sending him a sneer and a slammed door in his face.

* * *

"I'll be fine, Hermione," Draco said that night. He stood in the kitchen with the entire DA Core and Petunia staring at him. His blond hair was now a deep, chestnut brown, nearly the same shade as Hermione's. He smiled softly at her. _**Really, I will. I'll talk to you the whole time.**_

_** You promise?**_

_** I promise on everything that matters in this world,**_ he said. _**And that's you.**_

Hermione sniffled and wiped at her eyes.

_**Please don't cry.**_

_** I'm not crying**_**, **she replied, hugging herself.

Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione, both of them standing embraced in the others arms for a time before Draco pulled away. _**I need to go now.**_

Tearfully, she let him go, trying not to cry as he popped out of the kitchen. She waited several tense moments before he spoke.

_**I'm on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron, and everything's fine so far. So, stop worrying,**_ he said to Hermione.

Hermione relayed the information to the rest of their friends, doing so with everything Draco said.

_**I have every right to worry,**_ she replied back.

Ignoring what she said, though not dismissing it, Draco continued on narrating his every step. _**Alright, I'm opening the door to the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles are staring at me strangely, and now they're looking away as the **_**Look at Me Not**_** charms are activating. And now I'm stepping inside, and the door is closing, and...**_

_** Draco!**_ she shouted at him, near tears.

Draco paused for a moment, his thoughts filtering through hers. _**Sorry, **_he said to her.

_**As you should be. I'm here, away from you, as you step into enemy territory, and you're making jokes about it! What's wrong with you?**_

"Oi, what's he doing?" Ron asked impatiently.

"Hermione?" Ginny intercepted, pushing Ron out of the way.

Hermione shook her head. "He's just being an insensitive prat with no consideration for others, what so ever," she said. "Everything's just fine."

_**I heard that, you know.**_

_** Which part?**_ she responded testily.

Draco sighed. _**I'm sorry, alright? I was trying to lighten up the mood.**_

_** Well, it wasn't appreciated.**_

_** Yeah, I can tell**_, he said quietly.

"What's going on?" Ron asked again.

"Yeah, come on, Hermione," Harry said. "We need to know what he's doing and what's going on."

"Sorry," she said. "He's in the Leaky Cauldron and everything's fine."

_**There's the normal lot of warlocks and hags, and Tom's...oh...**_

_** What?!**_

_** There's someone new behind the bar, **_Draco said.

Hermione felt a brief, sharp jab of panic from Draco. _**Draco!**_

_** He's asking me for my Pureblood papers, saying Diagon Alley's only for the pure. What are Pureblood papers?**_

_** It must be a new regulation.**_

Hermione's heart stopped for several beats as she felt the shift in his emotions from panic, to fear, to a quietly strumming current of cunning ingenuity.

_**Draco, talk to me.**_

The DA Core huddled around Hermione, their eyes wide and trained upon her face, watching as her facial expressions changed.

"I'm apparating in there," Harry said, standing up.

"No!" Hermione shouted, holding up one hand. "Wait..."

The cunning ingenuity faded into a faint echo of relief.

_**I got through,**_he said to her.

_**You did? How?**_

_** I confounded him.**_

_** Draco, that's not permanent! He's going to come to in a few minutes and figure out what happened.**_

_** I'm well aware of that, Hermione, **_he snapped back.

Hermione sighed. _**Well, did anyone notice what you did to him?**_

_** No, I don't think so.**_

_** You don't think so?**_

Draco took his turn to sigh. _**I'm moving quickly. **_He paused. _**That's interesting.**_

_** Harry says you're an idiot. Apparate back here right now.**_

_** Buying a dozen basilisk fangs will only take five minutes. I'm already at the apothecary.**_

_** The apothecary doesn't carry basilisk fangs, Draco,**_ Hermione told him with an almost painful degree of restraint and patience.

_**It does now, at least Grimmlan's Apothecary does.**_

_** Grimmlan's?**_

_** New apothecary. All the shops are new. I didn't even have to go to Knockturn Alley. Just calm down, Granger. You'll give yourself an aneurysm.**_

_** An aneurysm?**_

_** Yes, it's a Muggle brain affliction...**_

_** I know what an aneurysm is. What have you been reading?**_

_** One of the medical textbooks in the study, the blue one at the end of the row. Loads of pictures. Very interesting.**_

_** You're going to be the death of me, **_she moaned.

_**How much do you think basilisk fangs go these days?**_

_** Why are you asking?**_

_** Just answer the question.**_

_** I don't know...5 galleons a piece?**_

He didn't answer for several minutes. Hermione listened to the background murmurs from his mind as he spoke with someone on his end. Another moment passed before he replied.

_**Five galleons? You really think you can buy a basilisk fang with five galleons? **_His tone was condescending.

Hermione rubbed her forehead. _**It was the first number that came to mind. Are you finished yet? Get back here.**_

_** I'm walking out of the shop, and tell Potter he owes me six galleons. He didn't give me enough and I had to use some of my own personal money.**_

_** Merlin's pants, Draco!**_

_** Merlin's pants?**_

_** Oh, shut it.**_

_** Hold on, I'm coming back. **_"Here, safe and sound," he announced, walking into kitchen, a grin on his face and a bag in one hand.

Angrily, Hermione strode up to him and struck him across the face.

Gasps echoed all around, the DA Core's mouths hanging open.

Draco stood there for a moment, long enough for the silence to grow awkward and long enough for Petunia to poke her head into the kitchen, having heard the resounding sound of a hand violently crossing over skin.

"What is going on in here?" she asked.

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, not looking at his aunt. "It's something we'll take care of."

Making a noise in the back of her throat, she turned and walked away.

"Hermione, I think that was a little uncalled for," Ginny said tentatively.

Hermione fumed silently, her eyes penetrating Draco's face.

"I might have actually deserved that, Weaslette," Draco said next.

Ron snorted, shaking his head, earning him a heated glare from Hermione and a roll of Draco's eye.

Ginny glanced from Hermione and back to Draco, her attention riveted on her best friend's mate. "What do you mean you might have actually deserved that?" she asked.

Draco ducked his head. "Well..."

"Just for being a prat, Ginny," Hermione said. "Don't worry over it."

Glaring at Draco, Ginny accepted Hermione's explanation with a muttered retort and a roll of her eyes.

"You know," Luna then said, staring blankly at the wall. "We've gotten the locket..."

"No shit, Lovegood," Ron cursed. "When'd you figure that out?"

"Ron, stop being a prat," Neville cut in, turning to Luna next. "What about the locket, love?"

"We've gotten the locket, and now we need to watch the next memory," she said.

The DA Core met in the study, Harry explaining to his aunt that they needed the space for a while. With a sigh, she obeyed, retreating to her room down the hall. Once alone, Neville took the pensieve down from the shelf as Luna ran to get the vialed memory.

Hermione fidgeted next to Draco, her previous annoyance and anger having dissolved into shame.

_**I'm sorry**_, she whispered in her mind.

Draco turned to her, taking her hand. _**I was insensitive, love. I'm sorry, as well.**_

_** I shouldn't have hit you**_, she countered. _**That was wrong.**_

He dragged the pad of his thumb across her palm. _**It's alright, Hermione.**_

Hermione felt him close the issue in his head as Luna returned with the memory labeled, "After You've Gotten the Locket." Dumping it into the pensieve, the DA Core dipped their faces into the shimmering memory and dropped in one after the other.

* * *

The DA Core remained in the memory for far longer than the other memories they had viewed. In the memory, the memory belonging to a houseelf named Hokey, they were introduced as a group to Hepzibah Smith, her apparent acquaintance with Tom Riddle, and one golden cup that had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff and was of interest to both parties. After being tossed from the memory, their brains still involved with what they had just seen, none of them were doubtful of what the next horcrux would be, for Hufflepuff's cup had entranced Tom Riddle. Silence passed over them and it was only moment later, when Draco spoke, that it was broken.

"I've seen that cup somewhere," he said.


	63. Parvulus Monumentum

**Author's Note** - YAY! Another chapter. After this chapter, there are six left. I have five written. It's that last chapter that's a problem. I just don't want to write it. I don't want Fire Dragon to end. ::sad face:: But it must end, and end soon. However, I've got other projects on the horizon that are demanding my attention. One of those projects is Fire Dragon related. There's more information on that after this chapter.

**Another Note** - The chapter title means, "A Child's Memories," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Three**

"Parvulus Monumentum"

* * *

"For the last time, Potter, _NO_!"

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, I'll be in and out before you know it," Harry screamed at the other boy, chasing him through the living room and into the kitchen.

"Oh, right, like that'll happen."

"What else do you suppose we do?"

Draco crossed his arms, turning his nose up towards the ceiling.

"I'm perfectly capable at legilimancy," Harry shouted. "If you weren't such a pompous little..."

"Don't say it; don't you even say what I think you're going to say," Draco demanded, pointing a long, slender finger at the black haired boy. "Just shut it."

"If you can't remember where you saw the bloody cup..." Harry began.

"Shut it, Potter!"

"I told you that it'll only be a moment. In and out. I practiced on Ron last night," Harry said.

"Oh, like that makes me feel so much better," Draco raved on. "You're not doing it, and I don't give a flying hippogriff's arse what you think." Turning on his heel, Draco stalked out of the room and into the dining room. He dragged one of the heavy dining chairs over to one of the windows and watched the hustle and bustle of the busy muggle city.

_**Love, he was only trying to help**_, Hermione said, edging into his thoughts after he'd had time to calm down.

_**I don't care.**_

_** Draco, if you have a memory of where Hufflepuff's cup is...**_

_** I'll figure it out on my own**_, he pouted.

_**Oh, you will, will you?**_

_** Yes.**_

_** Then, tell me, Draco. Where's the cup?**_

Grumbling half to himself and his bonded in his mind, Draco focused his gaze on the tall, high-rise buildings out the window, imagining each and every one being set on fire.

_**Come on, you don't want to do that**_, Hermione said, listening in on his thoughts. She listened as his emotions shifted.

_**I can't remember, Hermione. I know I've seen that cup; I know I have! I just can't bloody remember.**_

_** Then let Harry help you.**_

_** I'm not letting Potter root around in my head. Hell no!**_

_** It's important, Draco. We need to know where the cup is if we're going to destroy it.**_

_** Oh, so now you're telling me that I HAVE to do this for the good of the group.**_

_** No, for the good of society**_, she replied cattily. _**Snap out of it, love.**_

_** I don't want to. You go let Potter riffle through your memories.**_

_** He's not going to riffle through your memories, Draco. He told you he wouldn't.**_

_** Like I trust him not to.**_

_** Draco, I think you trust Harry more than you're willing to believe.**_

Her mate grumbled to himself again as Hermione entered the dining room and hugged Draco from behind. "If I could do it myself, I would, but we both know that I can't," she said into his ear, kissing him on the temple.

He leaned his head against the side of hers and sighed. "And there's no way I'm letting Weasley into my head," he said.

Hermione snorted. "I don't think Ron would do it even if you payed him," she said.

"Yeah, that's true...and Longbottom's not good enough at Legilimancy," he said.

"But you have to admit, Neville's got quite the knack for Occlumency," Hermione countered, grinning at him.

Cursing, Draco stood up. "Nobody was supposed to have seen that."

"What? You pulling a surprise attack on Neville and getting tossed out on your arse?" she answered, grinning.

"Don't speak of that," Draco demanded, pointing at her.

Hermione merely smiled.

Draco couldn't help but grin slightly, ducking his head. After a moment, he let out a soft breath of air. "Alright, I'll let Potter use Legilimancy on me," he said.

Grinning, Hermione kissed him. "Thank you, love."

"But if he so much as tries to snoop around, I'm breaking his wand hand off," he finished with.

* * *

Each mind presented itself in a different manner. Harry had practiced Legilimancy on Ron, Ginny, and Neville many times, enough to have a general knowledge of each of their minds' layouts. Draco, however, had adamantly refused having Legilimancy used against him, something Harry found both annoying and something he could understand, considering his friend's upbringing with Lucius Malfoy. Sitting now, in the study, alone with Draco, his calculating silver eyes boring holes into his skull, Harry suddenly had second thoughts about delving into the blond boy's mind. However, he wasn't Harry Potter for nothing, and he knew he couldn't back down.

"Stop looking at me like that," Draco snapped suddenly.

"I'm not looking at you," Harry answered calmly.

"Just get on with it," he replied.

Sighing, Harry pointed his wand at Draco. "_Legilimens_," he whispered.

Immediately he was plunged into the other boy's mind, a sensation that was both cooling and sharp around the edges, sharp to an almost painful degree. Mingling through Draco's mind was another sensation, an emotion that felt familiar. Hermione, Harry thought. Even with Draco's mate in a different room, closing off the connection on her side, he still felt her, sensed her presence. Harry let the notion that part of Hermione resided in Draco fall to the side and focused on Draco's mind. His memories were ordered, ordered and numbered to an almost obsessive degree. Several flitted across his vision, memories of a recent argument he had with Ron, an image of Hermione sleeping, fire bursting forth from an outstretched hand, a wing, Haven, and several more rushed past him and down what appeared to be a hallway. Doors lined each side, doors Harry was sure were locked. There were dozens of doors with dozens of locks, and Harry walked by all of them, the flitting memories delving deeper and deeper into Draco's past. Harry reached out slightly, feeling them and being barraged by emotions, emotions that were once had and now forgotten.

Moving along, Harry filtered through all the memories, eyeing the doors, looking for Draco's memory of Hufflepuff's cup. The resemblance of the hallway twisted and turned, other hallways shooting off of the main corridor. Harry wandered down those, turning one way and the other, back tracking, and searching, always searching. He came up with nothing, absolutely nothing, that is until he came upon an imposing door that was a shade of black that seemed to leak into the bordering memories, staining them. Harry frowned, taking a step away, his emerald eyes trained upon the door. He glanced down the hallway one way and then the other. Blurry memories, blurred with age, hovered around the door. In one particular memory, a golden cup came into focus for a split second before dissolving into nothingness. Voices accompanied the cup, voices without words but filled with anger. Harry watched the cup appear and disappear several times before turning to the door. He reached out for the handle of the door, but the moment he touched the door, his skin sizzled and burned, and before Harry could register what was happening, he was back in the study.

"I told you not to poke around, Potter." Draco stood over Harry, who had tumbled to the floor.

Flexing his fingers, no marks evident, Harry sighed and hauled himself to his feet. "I wasn't poking around," he said. "But I found the memory."

"Good," Draco said. "Where is it?"

"There's something wrong with it," Harry said, rubbing at the back of his head.

"What do you mean there's something wrong with it?" Draco snapped as Hermione poked her head in the room.

"Hey, what'd you find, Harry?" she asked.

Harry smiled at Hermione. "I was just getting to that."

The rest of the DA Core entered the room, wanting to hear what Harry had seen. Draco, on the other hand, sulked in one of the leather chairs, not fancying being the center of the discussion topic.

"I found the memory, but there's something wrong with it."

"Wrong how?" Ginny asked.

Hermione glanced at Draco and he felt her mind edge deeper into his. Even though they shared a connection, their minds fused together, she didn't have the same degree of access that one would have using Legilimancy.

"It's..." he began, struggling to organize his thoughts into coherent ideas. "It was black and burned when I touched it..."

"So, that's what that was," Draco mused idly, though his eyes were trained on Harry.

"It wasn't like your other memories," he said to Draco. "It was dark."

"Do you suppose someone could have put a curse on him?" Ginny ventured.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you think, Weaslette?"

Ginny sneered at him and Hermione rubbed at her head.

"Either way, we need to figure out what this is," Hermione said. "I can't get into your head enough to see for myself."

"Yeah, only downfall to this," he said, gesturing between them with a wry smile.

She swatted him on the arm.

"This might require someone else's expertise," Hermione said, looking intently at Draco. "And who's the only master Legilimens that we know of?"

"Snape," Harry said, his voice dropping in disappointment.

* * *

Professor Severus Snape entered Haven via Maia's portrait in the sitting room. He arrived Tuesday evening just as the DA Core finished dinner, the dishes washing themselves as the portrait swung open and he dropped to the floor, swirling robes and everything.

"You came through Hogwarts?" Harry asked, it being the first thing said.

"No pleasantries or greetings, Potter?" he snarked, clutching at the front of his robes.

"I thought Hogwarts had fallen."

"It has, Potter, but your addled mind apparently can't comprehend the notion of the castle still recognizing my magical signature," Snape explained slowly as if to a small child.

Harry rolled his eyes as Petunia poked her nose around the edge of the kitchen doorway. "It's you!" she exclaimed, frowning at the Potions Master. "I remember you." She wagged her finger at Snape. "You were that...that boy that Lily was friends with."

Snape stuck his nose up at Petunia as if he were debating between giving her the time of day. Finally he spoke. "Petunia," he said. "Petunia Evans...but you're a Dursley, now, aren't you?"

"Legally," she said, as she and Vernon had never made their separation legal before his death.

"Yes, Vernon Dursley," he said, as if the name tasted poorly in his mouth. "Ugly man."

Petunia bristled at his words. "He's dead," she said, turning her nose away.

"How unfortunate," he said.

"Mmm, yes, unfortunate," she replied, turning away and wringing her hands. "It's all unfortunate, really."

Snape gave her one last glance and turned to Harry. "How about we do what I'm here for," he said. "I don't, after all, have all day."

Draco appeared in the doorway, Hermione behind him.

"Yes, let's get on with it then," he said, nodding at Draco.

The process of extracting the memory from Draco's mind was relatively quick and painless, the Potion's Master entering into his mind, undoing the curse, and drawing out the memory with his wand. It landed in the palm of his hand, which he let slip into an empty vial he'd taken from the pocket of his robes.

"The curse'll have some lingering side effects," he said, smoothing down his robes in a clinical fashion. "Some of which will be fatigue and muscle weakness as the broken curse leaves your system. It should pass within a day or so."

"And if it doesn't?" Hermione asked, eyeing Draco worriedly.

"I doubt that it would."

"But if it doesn't?" she insisted.

Snape sighed heavily. "Then you'll need to contact me," he said. "Is that all, Granger?"

Hermione nodded quickly.

"Draco? Anything to add that your little mate hasn't asked?"

Draco shook his head and took the vial containing his memory from Professor Snape. "Thank you, Professor," he said.

Snape gave him a curt nod of his head, and with not much else, he disappeared through Maia's portrait. After Snape's departure, the DA Core gathered in the study, the pensieve before them, and viewed Draco's memory. As their noses touched the silvery liquid, they were drawn in, landing on a stretch of elegant carpet that spanned the entire length of the hallway they stood in. The carpet, a dark green, was bordered with an intertwined silver design that upon closer inspection was revealed to be snakes, their bodies twisted around each other. The walls of the hallway were filled with portraits, portraits of ancestors who were either sleeping or sitting regally and so motionless that they appeared to be Muggle.

Draco took a few steps down the hallway, leading the way. He glanced back at Hermione. "This is my parent's wing of the Manor," he said. "I was never allowed up here when I was young."

"And apparently you never listened, either," Ron muttered, turning to watch as a small, blond haired boy climbed the stairs at the end of the hallway, one hand gripping the railing.

Hermione spun around as the child Draco climbed the last stair and froze, listening carefully. His eyes, large and wide, peered down the hallway nervously, one hand toying with the fabric of his green and silver robes. His hair was neatly combed to one side, the effect being that he looked far older than his young age.

"How old are you here?" Hermione asked Draco. "You can't be older than five."

"Four, I think," he said. "I remember those robes."

Four year old Draco began to walk towards the DA Core, though he couldn't see them, and just as he came within five meters of them, a squeaky high pitched voice shouted up from the bottom of the stairs.

"Little Master! Litttle Master!"

Dobby clambered up the stairs, tugging on his ears at the same time. His large, round eyes caught Draco, and the houseelf nearly had a heart attack, gripping his chest and throwing his ears back.

"Little Master, you not supposed to be up here. Master will be very angry, yes, very angry," Dobby said, shuffling up to Draco, his hand outstretched as the other one worried at the edge of his tea towel. "Please, Dobby will make Little Master a snack down in the kitchen. Little Master's favorite."

Draco studied the houseelf with childlike indifference and waved his hand at Dobby. "Not now, Dobby," he said, his eyes watching one door in particular, a door further down the hallway, a light shining out from under the door.

"No, no, no. Little Master must come with Dobby," Dobby cried, grabbing a vase from a small table and smashing it over his head. Miraculously, it didn't break, but as Dobby went to give the vase another swing at his head, Draco jumped up and snatched the vase from Dobby's hands.

"No, Dobby. Go back downstairs."

"But Little Master..."

"Go! I order you to go back downstairs," Draco shouted. "I order you to. You have to when I order you."

Moaning as if in great amounts of pain, Dobby turned and stumbled back towards the stairs, his mouth open in a silent expression of agony. Draco watched the elf disappear down the stairs, and once Dobby's floppy ears went out of sight, he turned back around, creeping up to the door with the light shining from underneath. He flattened himself against the wall, his eyes sliding sideways and his ears perked towards the closed door. His breaths came shallow and quiet, as if he were afraid he would be heard.

The DA Core approached the other side of the door, listening for any words they might be able to discern through the wood door. Mumbled voices, rising and falling, came through the door, two voices rising and falling in the tenor and tone of an argument. Suddenly, the door was thrown open. Young Draco gasped and flattened himself against the wall, trying to blend into the decor. Belletrix Lestrange stood on the other side of the doorway, one hand on the doorknob.

"You are foolish, Lucius," she shouted.

"You dare call me foolish, Bella?"

Bella growled. "You _are_ foolish. You can't keep it here."

Young Draco, his breaths shaking, peeked his head around the corner, overcome with curiosity. It was his father's private study, dark books lining the walls, and his desk pushed against one wall. The rug that covered the floor had been shoved to the side, a wooden door in the floor revealed. It was open and Lucius stood to the side of his, a golden cup held in his hand.

"It's what the Dark Lord would want, Bella," he argued. "I was his Second in Command, so it is up to me now, that he's gone, to protect what's left of him."

"The Lestrange family vault is secure, Lucius," she replied.

"If the Lestrange vault is sufficient, then so is the Malfoy vault," Lucius said.

Snarling, Bella pushed her face close to Lucius'. "You forget, Lucius, that I grew up with Narcy. She is not even _half_ as loyal to the Dark Lord that you are. Are you going to trust her with something like this?"

"Narcissa is as loyal as I am," Lucius said.

"Oh, is she?" Bella tilted her head. "I'll tell you what she is. She isn't loyal to the Dark Lord or even to you." She jabbed her finger into Lucius' chest. "She's loyal to that sniveling little child of yours." Her head whipped around to the doorway, her eyes locking onto Draco's wispy blond hair. "And speaking of that boy of yours..."

Just as Lucius turned his head, rage filling his eyes at the sight of his son, the memory cut out.

"So, it's in either the Lestrange or the Malfoy vault," Hermione said.

"Lestrange," Draco said. "Father always kept the key to the Lestrange vault in his study. It has to be in the Lestrange vault or else why would he keep the key?"

"And the key's in your father's study?" Ginny said.

Draco's eyes unfocused as if he were envisioning something. They refocused and he nodded. "I'm almost sure of it."

* * *

"The entryway is here, and leads into the drawing room. Over this way is the main staircase. We can take the main staircase up to the second floor," Draco explained, his wand drawing out the layout of Malfoy Manor on a spare sheet of parchment.

"You say Voldemort's using the Manor as a headquarters?" Harry said, studying the map.

"I only think he is," Draco said. "Father used to boast that when the Second War got underway that the Dark Lord was planning on using the Manor for something important."

"So, it's only a guess?"

"Yes, Potter, it's only a guess."

"Harry, stop it," Ginny said, kneeling on one of the kitchen chairs, her arms folded on the table. "We should plan for the worst and hope for the best."

"Alright, so let's assume that Voldemort is using the Manor as a headquarters," Hermione said. "What should we be cautious of?"

"The Drawing Room," Draco said. "Father kept the worst of his dark artifacts in there."

"Would the key be in there?" Ron asked.

Draco shook his head. "It's definitely in his study."

"What if he moved it?" Harry asked.

"What reason would have have to move it?" Draco asked.

"Any reason, really," Ron mused. "Why would he need any concrete reason?"

"Alright," Draco said. "Let's plan on the study and if not..."

"The Drawing Room," Hermione said.

"Why the Drawing Room?" Ron asked.

"If that's where Draco's father keeps the most of his Dark objects, then logic would lead to the assumption that the key to Lestrange's vault, which contains a horcrux, would be there."

Harry groaned, rubbing his head. "So, basically, we're going to be on a wild goose chase?"

* * *

Petunia Dursley fussed in the sitting room as the DA Core met in the kitchen, tense words and hushed voices arguing back and forth. Her fingers ran along the top of the window looking out into the yard of Godric's Hollow. Her gut instinct told her that something was happening, things were moving along at a quickening pace. She knew that her nephew and his friends were part of this war that was going on outside, wherever outside was. It was happening, surely happening, and she couldn't have felt more helpless.

* * *

**Special Note** - So, last weekend I got the Sims 3 for my birthday. YAY! It's amazing. And what's even more amazing? There's a video capture feature! I can make movies. Can we say Fire Dragon movie?! Seriously, I'm serious. Go on YouTube and search for Sims 3 Machinima to get an idea of the quality and type of movies people have made with the Sims 3. It's more than possible. Anyways, so Fire Dragon - The Movie has been added to my list of projects. I'm not promising anything soon, or even within the next several months. This is going to take loads of time. But I've got the ball rolling with the script, logistics of magic in the Sims 3, building the world, and everything else. However, I want your opinion on something. In terms of dialogue, I can do two things. I can either use captions on the screen, which might get to be too much when there is a lot to say, or I can do voiceovers. With voiceovers, it'll be less tedious for the viewer, but I'll have to do all the voiceovers. Think the Harry Potter books on CD where the dude who reads does all the voices. Asking or hiring people to do the various voices of the characters wouldn't work all that well considering Fire Dragon is going to be 69 chapters and the entire movie will take years upon years to create. So, I'm asking your opinion on what you would prefer.

Written captions or voiceovers?


	64. Prothoplastus Occumbo

**Author's Note - **Big news! I finished Fire Dragon last night. Yep. It has an ending. But for all of you, there's still five chapters left. I'm sad to see it go. It's been a great fanfiction to write, one of my favorite things I've ever written. The Sims 3 movie is still in production. I'm still working on the set and I've figured out a way to get voice overs that won't sound all the same...and there will be an official score instead of using other people's songs as the music. Check out Myna by Aviary and you'll see what I have to work with. It's so cool. Google it. Awesomeness.

**Another Note - **The title means, "The First to Fall."

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That's mine.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Four**

"Prothoplastus Occumbo"

* * *

Breaking into Malfoy Manor had been exponentially more terrifying than anything else the DA Core had done together. Even The Hogwarts Battle wasn't quite as heart stopping due to them knowing where the enemy was and being on familiar ground. However, Malfoy Manor was a whole new breed of terror. Granted, they had Draco, who knew the ins and outs of his childhood home, and they had a general sense of what they were looking for, and a few ideas of where it might be. But with the opening for new variables to enter and unforeseen dangers to come upon them, anything and everything could happen. Their fingers twitched, their hearts quivered, sweat slicked down foreheads, and minds were entranced on the what-ifs and unknowns. Leaving Haven truly felt as if they were leading themselves to their own death. The chance that one of them would die, though they'd always known that one of them could die ever since the war began, just became more of a fact than a chance. Their bond as friends had grown strong and unbreakable since The Hogwarts Battle. Inseparable they were.

However, the DA Core was at the forefront of the war, and while The Order of the Phoenix was fighting their own battles elsewhere, it was the DA Core that would determine how everything would turn out. Harry Potter was their savior and the only one who could kill Voldemort. They would come face to face with Voldemort and face to face with death. It wasn't a matter of if, but a matter of when. It was a war, and people died.

Yet, standing in the kitchen of Haven, the DA Core exchanged glances and tried to forget all the thoughts, worries, concerns, and fears that ran through their heads. Draco tapped into Hermione's mind and she turned to him with a wan smile.

_**You ready, love?**_ he thought into her mind.

_**No, but I have to be.**_

They apparated out of Haven one by one, reappearing in a clearing a few kilometers from Malfoy Manor. Draco had plotted out where they would apparate to, giving a detailed layout of the surrounding area and the small Muggle village that sat near Malfoy Manor. The night had become their cloak of security, shielding them from what lurked in the corners. It was a quiet night, one of those clear and calm nights that evoked a strong urge to simply lay in the grass and stare up at the sky. Hermione glanced upwards as she and her friends began walking through the grass. The stars twinkled all around her. Draco walked alongside her, his hand slipping into hers. They said nothing and only walked, following a small dirt path that lead towards and then past the village.

Passing the village, its light illuminated their path. Cars and buses motored past and distant conversations offered background noise. The DA Core ignored the village and its sights and sounds, moving silently and quickly onward. As the village faded into the distance, the grass turned into underbrush and the underbrush grew thick and difficult to traipse through. Ron, getting his foot stuck in a tangle of weeds, drew his wand and pointed it at his foot.

"No!" Draco whispered, grabbing Ron's arm.

"What?" Ron said, looking up startled.

"Shh," Draco said, reaching out to push Hermione behind him and give Harry a look, who froze at Draco's whispered alarm.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

_**Draco?**_ Hermione asked at the same time.

"We're on the Malfoy grounds," he said. "There are dozens of..."

"Yeah, we've gone over all the traps and curses spread over your manor," Harry said, impatient to move onward. "What is it now?"

Draco shook his head. "There's a charm my father uses that records magical signatures. If you cast that spell, Weasley, my father will know that we're here."

"Shit," Ron cursed.

"And you didn't think it important to tell us this until now?" Harry shouted.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ginny scolded. "Quiet down!"

"Malfoy's been withholding information," he accused, pointing at the guilty party.

"I simply forgot, Potter. Father's got more curses and hexes on his land than you have brain cells," Draco said, his voice drawling. "You surely understand that, right?"

Harry pressed his lips together unhappily.

Draco sighed. "Look Potter, even I don't know all the security measures my father has on the Manor. For all I know, we've triggered some already."

Harry looked up at that.

"Which I doubt considering we're alive."

"Fine," Harry said. "We can't use magic unless it's absolutely necessary," he decided, looking at everybody, getting wordless confirmations.

"Or unless they already know we're here," Hermione added.

Malfoy Manor stood at the top of a small hill, manicured and groomed lawns flowing downwards from its base. In the moonlight, it glowed brightly and serenely. To their right, a paved road lead up to the front door where a ministry car sat. The DA Core sat and watched the car, the driver having gotten out and gone into the manor ten minutes earlier. In the back seat of the car, a figure sat. From far away, the identity of the figure was indiscernible.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked.

"We wait," Draco responded.

"Wait?"

"If we move, whoever is in there will see us."

"We stick to the shadows," Ginny suggested.

Draco shook his head. "We wait."

Harry turned and looked at Draco, his eyes narrowed and calculating. After a moment he said, "Then we wait," he decided, turning back to watch the car.

The car remained for half an hour before the driver returned, entered the car, and drove away. Just as the DA Core stood from their crouched positions, complaining about stiff muscles, the distinct pop of multiple apparitions caused them to drop the ground, pressing themselves into the grass. A dozen Deatheaters appeared in the front drive, nodding at each other before entering the house. A moment later, a half dozen more appeared, followed by more until nearly three dozen Deatheaters had entered Malfoy Manor.

"Just great," Harry grumbled, rubbing at his scar. "We choose the night when they're having a Deatheater meeting to break into the bloody manor."

Draco, who crouched beside him, his eyes sweeping from one end of the manor to the other end, snorted in response.

The DA Core waited fifteen minutes after the last Deatheater apparated before sneaking across the front lawn, darting between the hedge bushes and disguising their presence in shadows and avoiding certain known traps and trigger points that Draco informed them of. It was ridiculously easy to enter the manor, Draco pulling open the front door as casually as any other Malfoy. Dull voices floated into the Entry Hall from another room.

"They hold meetings sometimes in the downstairs drawing room," he said, pointing at a closed door as it creaked open.

The DA Core gasped and scurried to hide themselves as Wormtail slipped out and walked down the hallway away from the Entry Hall. Heart rates returning to normal paces, the DA Core straightened back up. Hermione glanced upwards at the high ceiling and the massive crystal chandelier that lit the Entry Hall.

_**Mother loved chandeliers**_, Draco offered up, seeing where her eyes drifted._** There's one in nearly every room. Some of the bathrooms even.**_

_**It's beautiful.**_

The Entry Hall was everything anybody would expect from the Malfoy family, regal, gleaming, and keep-your-hands-off fragile.

_**I broke that vase five times**_, Draco said to Hermione, pointing at a large vase sitting at the base of the winding staircase with the vines creeping upwards in greens and golds. He grinned at her. _**Each time Mother fixed it before Father found out.**_

Hermione slipped her hand into Draco's, watching the drawing room door as they silently crept up the stairs, holding her breath the entire way.

* * *

Neville, Ginny, and Ron paced the hallway, their wands drawn and their ears perked, straining to hear approaching footsteps. Their eyes watched the portraits, frozen in time. Then their focus shifted to the open door and the drifting voices that argued and the fumbling around that echoed out into the hallway.

Ginny paused outside the door. "Have you found it yet?" she asked.

"No, not yet," Draco muttered, throwing open various cabinets and drawers, riffling through his father's possessions, many of which ended up on the floor.

Harry paged through a stack of papers off to the side, looking for any clues.

Hermione helped Draco, her hair pulled back in a clip.

Ginny sighed, tight lipped, and returned to the hallway and the pacing.

Distant echoes came from the ground floor and the three patrolling the hallway flattened themselves against the wall and peeked around the corner and down the stairs. Deatheaters flooded into the Entry Way. A pop exploded from further down the hall and the three of them leapt into the air, wands pointed. Winzy, the houseelf, ducked and covered her ears.

"Winzy helps, Winzy helps the great Harry Potter and his friends," she squeaked, pulling at her ears.

Neville lowered his wand but Ginny and Ron kept theirs trained on the elf.

"Help how?" Neville asked.

"Master Lucius comes up to his study after meetings," she said. "He comes now." Panicked, Winzy blinked away just as heavy footsteps ascended the stairs, voices accompanying them.

"We got it!" Draco and Harry shouted as two hooded figures appeared on the landing.

The two figures paused momentarily at the sight of the DA Core before one of them began cackling. Bellatrix Lestrange threw off her hood.

"Well, if it isn't the DA Core. How kind of you to show up tonight." Her teeth shimmered as she grinned and she rubbed her hands together in excitement.

The DA Core acted quickly and soon spells, hexes, and curses crisscrossed through the hall, blasting holes in the ceiling, floor, and walls. Unforgivables fell effortlessly from the Deatheater's lips. From the stairs and the other end of the hallway, more hooded figured appeared, joining in on the battle. The frozen portraits came back to life and screamed about the uncleanness of the intruders and that the entire manor would need to be disinfected due to the impurity of blood that tramped through its halls. The screaming grew fractured as the portraits were blown to pieces.

"Crucio!" one Deatheater shouted.

Draco ducked, the hex jetting over his head only to hit Harry.

Harry screamed and Draco quickly turned around and cast a Finite Incantatem and continued fighting.

"I can feel it!" Bella crowed, casting spell after spell at Neville, his nose shattered and ribs crunching. "The end is near!"

Hermione trembled on her feet, the pain so great as she struggled to duel with the Deatheater before her.

Draco pushed her to the side and behind him, taking on the Deatheater himself.

Neville, his back to Harry, fought with one of the Carrows.

"_Expelliarmus_," he shouted. The spell bounced off of the shield Carrow erected and hit Ginny. Ginny's wand flew from his hand and into Neville's. For a brief second, he froze, staring at the wand before pointing it at the Deatheater. "_Stupify_!" he shouted. The spell ripped through the Deatheater's shield, the Deatheater hitting the floor.

Neville met Ginny's eyes. "Give me your old one," she shouted, ducking and swerving to avoid spells.

There was no time to argue. He tossed her his old wand and kept hers. It worked perfectly for him, more than perfect. However, there would be time to think on that notion later, for now, he had to fight, and fight he did.

They were surrounded, trapped by Deatheaters filling both ends of the hallway. Harry and Draco, fighting back to back, groped about for a way out, for an escape. A door stood across from the study, and Harry flung it open. Another study, the walls lined with books, hundreds upon thousands of books, and leather adorned chairs sat upon the Oriental rug. They fell into the room, wands pointed at the Deatheaters. Hermione, Luna, and Ginny followed as the Deatheaters pushed onward. They could hear Neville and Ron screaming spells and hexes out in the hall, their voices falling onto each others voices. As Harry and Draco held off the Deatheaters swarming at the doorway, Hermione grabbed Ginny.

_**The wall, love**_, Draco told her. _**Blast it.**_

_** Which one?**_

_** To your left. There's a bathroom on the other side. Turn on both taps to the bathtub and sink and then push on the wall next to the toilet. There's a secret passageway.**_

Hermione directed Ginny to the wall and Luna ran a hand over it for a brief moment before drawing her wand.

"_Reducto!_" they screamed, plaster and mortar exploding inward.

The three girls stumbled over the crumbled wall, arms thrust out for balance. The once gleaming bathroom was now covered in dust and debris. Hermione quickly turned on the bathtub while Ginny spun the sink taps. Water streamed and Luna pressed her hand against the wall adjacent to the toilet. Sinking inward, the wall groaned and creaked as it slid to the side, revealing a tunnel.

"Ginny, Luna, quick!" Hermione screamed, half in and half out of the tunnel.

Suddenly, a Deatheater barged into the destroyed bathroom through the hole in the wall. Hood thrown over his face, he grabbed Ginny. Luna spun around, screamed, and attacked the Deatheaters with her bare hands. She leapt onto his back, her nails digging into the flesh of his face. Screaming, he released his grip on Ginny, who dropped to a crouch and kicked his legs out from beneath him. He went down with a crash. Luna scurried out from beneath him, Ginny pulling on her arms.

The three girls piled into the tunnel, sprinting along its dark length, led only by wandlight. It twisted and turned; it angled up and slanted downward. Before long, the girls lost all sense of direction, only knowing forward.

After what felt like hours, the tunnel ended at a door.

"Alright, big question of the night," Ginny said. "Do we open the door?"

"I say yes," Luna offered.

"We have no other option," Hermione said. She breathed in gasps, glancing behind her into the thick darkness, almost expecting a Deatheater to jump out at her. The thought kept her nerves on fire. Another thought filtered down into her conscious mind. Draco.

_**Draco?**_ she called.

No response.

Searching further, she found where he resided in her brain. He was there, that was for sure. However, something was wrong. Their connection was no longer there. Sweat broke out on her forehead, dripping down her face.

_**Draco?!**_

Nothing.

She probed further, searching to the point of intrusion that earned her a sharp jab of pain.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked softly, resting a hand on her friend's arm.

Hermione looked at Ginny.

"Something's wrong with Draco," Luna said, taking Hermione's other hand.

"What's wrong with Draco?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I think he's hurt," she said, panic rising in her throat. "Oh God, he's hurt." She shook off her friend's hands, worrying and fretting in the dark tunnel.

"Hermione, stop," Ginny said, grabbing Hermione's shoulders.

With a shaky breath, Hermione stopped.

"This is probably going to come out wrong," she began, "but you can't worry about that right now. We have to get through this first."

"She's right," Luna said. "You'll worry later."

With a moment to gather her thoughts and steel her emotions, Hermione nodded. "You're right," she said, laughing weakly at herself. Pressing her lips together, Hermione took a deep breath. She wouldn't think of that, not at this moment.

Ginny pressed her ear against the door while Luna touched it with her fingers, tilting her head to the side and frowning. Hermione crouched down close to the ground.

"There's light coming from under the door," she said.

"It's another room," Luna said next.

"Is that houseelves?" Ginny asked, turning to glance at the other two girls. "Listen."

Hermione and Luna perked their ears, listening for anything coming from the other side of the door. The unmistakable sound of dozens of houseeleves registered faintly to Hermione's ears.

"It's the kitchen," Luna said. "There's only one thing to do." She placed a hand on the door and directed her attention to Hermione and Ginny.

Pushing the door open, the sound of houseleves grew and the pale light that leaked from the bottom of the door exploded into brightness. The three girls froze as two dozen houseelves turned. A heartstopping moment passed in which neither group did or said anything before one house-elf bounded forward.

"Yous the DA Core," the house-elf exclaimed. "Minky is happy to finally meet the DA Core."

"It's...a pleasure," Hermione said, smiling down at the house-elf while giving Ginny a strange look.

"They're light creatures, Hermione," Luna said. "Light, not dark."

"Winzy is saying you were here, but she tells lies sometimes," Minky went on saying. "But Winzy is saying the truth." Minky clapped her hands and beamed up at the three girls.

Another house-elf approached. "Please, let Grecko help," he said. "We want to help the great DA Core."

Minky nodded fervently. "Yes, it be our greatest honor to help the DA Core."

From the rest of the kitchen, a raucous uproar of ear splitting cheering came from the other house-elves. They surged forward, surrounding the girls, tugging on their clothes, and pleading to help.

Ginny glanced at Hermione and Luna before nodding. "Alright, you can help us," she said.

Luna smiled, kneeling down to speak quietly with the house-elves crowded around her. Then, plopping down onto the shining kitchen tiles, she pulled off her socks, a brilliant pair of hot pink knitted socks. Another pair resided beneath the hot pink ones, a less bright pair of green socks. Those, she removed as well. "Here," she said, handing each house-elf a sock. She glanced up at her friends. "I knew extra socks would come in handy." Luna smiled.

Hermione and Ginny, following in suit, pulled their shoes and socks off, handing their socks around to the house-elves, freeing them. When their socks ran out, their gave out their shoes, Hermione removing her sweater and Ginny her undershirt, until all house-elves were free. Standing in the middle of the Malfoy kitchen, having just freed their house-elves, Hermione felt a gleeful spike of pride well up in her.

Adorned in clothing, the house-elves cheered, singing their praises of the DA Core, Harry Potter, and his friends. Then, they quieted down, directing their attentions towards Hermione, Ginny, and Luna.

"The Entry Hall," they said. "The DA Core _must_ be in the Entry Hall and they must hurry."

One by one, they popped out of the kitchen, their floppy, sock-adorned ears disappearing until silence was all that was left. With the kitchen silent, there was no question regarding what they needed to do. Grabbing each others hand, the three girls raced out of the kitchen and headed down a hallway that lead towards the front of the manor.

"They're helping us," Ginny said as they came to a stop in a small alcove behind the statue of what must have been a Malfoy ancestor. "They're really helping us."

"House-elves are notorious for being loyal to their masters," Luna said, nodding at Hermione and Ginny. "But all in all, they're light creatures."

"I think I remember reading about that somewhere," Hermione said a-matter-a-factly.

"It not as well known of a fact," Luna said. "But I like non-human creatures. I think Draco's just fascinating being an Ignius and everything. Who would have known, right? Have I ever told you about my experience with a Willoby?"

Luna's adventures with the Willoby went forgotten as the pounding of footsteps, rushed and hurried, caused the three girls to draw their wands, spinning around, curses and hexes falling from their lips.

"_Stupify!"_

"_Tarantellegra_!"

Harry stumbled, tumbling to the ground. Draco, who Harry had been supporting, flopped to the ground.

"Oh God, Draco!" Hermione cried, racing forward.

"Harry?" Ginny echoed.

Harry turned over and groaned. Blood pooled on the marble floor, soaking into the carpet that ran down the hallway. He sat up, shaking his head.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I thought you...well, that you..."

"It's alright, Ginny," he said, slowly getting to his feet.

"What's wrong with him?!" Hermione demanded, her hands running along Draco's body, looking for a wound.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he said.

She looked up at him. "What do you mean you don't know?!"

Again, his head shook from side to side and he scrunched his face, a hand rubbing painfully at the back of his head. Ginny brushed her hand through his hair. "I don't know, Hermione," Harry said. "We were upstairs. He was fighting his father..."

Hermione panicked, rolling Draco over onto his back. "Draco!"

"He killed him."

"What?"

"Draco killed his father," Harry said, exhaustion dragging down his voice.

Hermione's mouth hung open, her hands absently running through his hair. His skin felt warm, shallow breaths going into and out of his lungs. For all intents and purposes he was alive.

"But what happened to him?" she asked.

"His father cursed him," Harry said, leaning against Ginny. "It wasn't anything I'd heard of before, but Draco knew it. I could tell in his eyes. He was just..." Harry shook his head. "Then he killed his father." Shrugging, Harry leaned to the side and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and coughed.

"Either way, we need to get to the Entry Hall," Luna said, studying Draco for a moment. "The house-elves aren't going to be able to hold them off for long."

Harry stooped down, and with Hermione's help, hauled Draco to his feet. His head lulled forward.

"What was that about?" Harry asked as they began walking.

"We set the house-elves free," Luna said proudly, beaming up at Harry.

* * *

Hermione, Luna, Ginny and Harry who half carried and half dragged Draco appeared in the Entry Way, their senses alert and peeled wide open. Muffled noises came from the floor above, shouted hexes and curses punctuated with the sharp snap of house-elves apparating and their high pitched screams and shouts. The Entry Way, unmarked and empty, seemed almost too quiet and calm. The remaining DA Core stood in the center of the expansive room in a circle, the grand staircase leading upstairs behind them, their wands drawn.

"Where's Neville?" Luna asked, her eyes wide. "He should be here."

"And Ron," Ginny added.

"We need to look for them," Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "They can't be left behind."

"Merlin no," Harry responded.

Suddenly, Neville appeared in the Entry Way, holding his side and limping.

"Go!" he shouted. "Get out of here. More are coming."

The DA Core looked up, startled. Harry struggled to hold Draco up while blood ran down his face. Hermione fussed worriedly over Draco, but stopped as Neville came into sight. Luna, who had been watching the ceiling and muttering to herself, snapped around.

"Where's Ron?" Ginny asked, running towards Neville.

Neville moaned and shook his head.

"Where's my brother?" she shouted.

"I...He's..."

"Neville," she yelled, shaking his shoulders.

An eruption of noise echoed and shook the floor. Errant spells were cast into the Entry Way and shouted voices chased the colored lights.

"We have to go, Neville," Harry said. "Now, where's Ron?"

"There's no time."

Hermione took Draco, Luna helping to hold his weight. A trail of blood ran down his neck and dripped onto the floor.

Harry grabbed Neville's shoulders and the brown-haired boy began to cry, his shoulders shaking and his face dropping into his hands. "He's dead," he cried. "Ron's dead."


	65. Amicus Absentis

**Author's Note_ - _**Yay! Another chapter. Four to go after this. The Sims 3 movie is going slow, _really_ slow. Don't expect anything any time soon. Frankly, I'm having too much fun playing around with the Medieval village I've created. Someday though, someday. Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Another Note** - The chapter title means, "A Friend Lost," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Five**

"Amicus Absentis"

* * *

The DA Core returned to Haven, apparating into the kitchen. It was dark, the middle of the night, and the only light came from the enchanted window.

"What do you mean he's dead?" Harry demanded loudly.

Neville huddled against the wall, his mouth open in silent terror.

"Neville!" Harry shouted, nearly screaming. "What do you mean he's bloody dead?"

An awful wail came from the other boy's mouth.

Ginny tugged at her hair. "He can't be dead," she whispered, shaking her head.

Hermione sat against the cupboards, Draco's head in her lap. She stared at the opposite wall.

Luna said nothing.

"My brother's not dead," Ginny said. "He can't be...he's not dead."

Harry got to his knees and grabbed Neville by the shoulders. "Neville!" he yelled, shaking him. "Where's Ron?"

"He's dead, Harry. Ron's dead," Luna said, gently removing Harry's hands from Neville.

Slowly sitting back down, Harry scooted backwards until his back hit the wall and shook his head. "He's not dead. You're lying," he accused.

"I don't lie," Luna said.

"You're nothing but a liar," Harry screamed, jumping to his feet and lunging at Luna.

Neville sprung to his feet and hit Harry in the face, which resulted in the two boys wrestling each other to the ground. The girls began screaming and yelling, trying to force the two boys apart. The light in the kitchen was flicked on.

"What is going on in here?" Petunia stood in the doorway in her nightgown.

The DA Core froze, staring up at Harry's aunt.

"It is three in the morning," she screeched.

Harry was the first to react, flopping onto the floor and covering his face as he began to cry. "I'm sorry, Luna," he cried.

Luna sniffled, wiping at her eyes with her hand. "It's alright."

"You do that again, Harry, and I swear, I'll kill you," Neville said, glaring at Harry.

Petunia watched the debacle before her and quickly counted the number of teenagers on the kitchen floor. "There's only six of you," she said. "Someone's missing. Who's missing?" Her voice rose in panic. "What happened?" Her head moved back and forth between them. "Ron," she said. "Where's Ron?"

The DA Core cried their sorrows onto the kitchen floor.

* * *

The occupants of Haven were woken the next morning by the sharp sound of things breaking. Hermione peeled herself out of bed, extracting her limbs from Draco, who remained unconscious but still breathing. She met Neville and Luna out in the hallway.

"Not fair! It's not fair!"

Harry stormed around the living room, picking up various breakable objects and hurling them at the wall. Glass shattered, clinking to the floor in a glittering mess. Whirling around, wand drawn, Harry pointed at the pile of broken glass, _reparoed_ it, and began his cycle of screaming and breaking again.

Ginny stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Harry. Tears and sobs drenched her pale face. Hermione quickly skirted around Harry and wrapped her arms around Ginny. Neville cautiously approached Harry.

"Harry, mate," he began, reaching out towards his friend with one hand. In his other hand he held his wand.

"It's not fair! It's not fair!" Harry went on screaming.

Neville took a tentative step forward and took Harry's arm that held a picture frame. Harry went limp, sliding to the ground, horrible, gut-wrenching sobs tearing through his throat.

"He was my best friend." Harry doubled over, gripping at his hair.

The DA Core watched on helplessly, for how Harry looked was how they felt, their hearts torn to withered and grief-ridden pieces. Their emotions would set the tone for weeks to come, weeks that would prove daunting and tiresome in the face of war.

* * *

Ginny lay in bed a day or two later. It was dinnertime, but the house was silent, silent but for the muffled sobs coming from elsewhere in the house. Whom those sobs belonged to wasn't quite a mystery, for it was everybody. Haven had grown cold since Ron's death, lifeless. Ginny had contacted her mother a day ago, informing her that Ron was dead, that her son had died and there wasn't even a body to mourn over. Neville refused to speak of what happened, dissolving into tears whenever anybody asked. All they knew was that they had gotten split up, all seven of them, and Neville and Ron had fought together, though alone. Neville bore scars that he hadn't had before Malfoy Manor, and Ginny shuddered to think that Ron died in the same manner that Neville earned his scars. However, Neville never spoke of it, covering up the scars and pretending they didn't exist. It wasn't something Ginny could stomach, thinking her brother died at the hand of torture; she couldn't, just couldn't.

* * *

Neville sat in the study staring listlessly out the window at Smithe and Bosworth outside. He watched the Muggles enter and exit the building, the revolving door spinning and spinning, spinning like his mind. It was far preferable to watch the doors spin than his mind. There were things Neville couldn't think of anymore, things he covered up. The DA Core were his friends, his best friends. However, there were things they didn't need to know, like how Ron died. Nobody needed to know that.

Sighing, he sat back in the chair, reaching behind him to grab his wand from beneath him. Holding his wand up, he studied it, examining the wood and the soft, worn gleam. On a whim, he pointed it at a piece of parchment across the room.

"_Accio_," he whispered, hardly putting any life into the spell.

The piece of parchment zipped directly to him, and Neville peeled it off his face. Frowning, he dropped the parchment to the floor, turned on back to the window, and set the wand carefully onto the side table.

* * *

The Revolution featured an article about Ron, his smiling school photo splashed across the front page. It was nearly a full day before any of the DA Core had the emotional resolve to read it.

**BELOVED FRIEND LOST TO WAR**

**Ron Weasley's Death Affects Many**

**By: Lee Jordan**

_Everybody remembers Ron Weasley from Hogwarts, red hair, huge family, keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, member of the exclusive DA Core, and best friend to Harry Potter. He was everybody's friend, loyal almost to a fault; even in the face of hardship, Ron's loyalty to the Light, his family, and his best friends never wavered. As a member of the DA Core, the integral and leading group that created the DA at Hogwarts and fights at the forefront of the Second War, Ron fought and stood up for what he believed in._

_ But beyond his participation in the DA Core, it was quidditch that Ron loved. "It was all he talked about, quidditch. He loved quidditch," Lavender Brown, Ron's ex-girlfriend, told The Revolution after learning of his death. As keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts his last year of attendance, it was obvious that Ron held true talent. "He was good, bloody good," Fred Weasley, brother to Ron, said, tears welling in his eyes. It had been rumored prior to the breakout of the Second War that Ron was destined for the professional quidditch leagues. "Chudley Cannons had been his favorite," his mother, Molly Weasley, said._

_ However, Ron's life had been cut short._

_ Ron Weasley died at the hands of Deatheaters at Malfoy Manor during a DA Core mission, the details of which remain unknown. It is said that he died fighting valiantly for what he believed in, that he died a hero. While his body remains lost, his spirit, we like to believe, has been laid to rest. In death, Ron has achieved greatness, but at a cost. He will always be remembered._

_ A memorial has been scheduled in Ron Weasley's honor. Please tap your wand against the box below and state, "I am loyal to the light," for the location, date, and time. _

* * *

Hermione set her copy of The Revolution down and climbed onto the bed where Draco lay. It appeared as if he was merely sleeping, his face peaceful. However, it had been five days since the battle at Malfoy Manor and he had yet to wake. His mind remained closed off to her, their connection broken. Her heart hurt, thinking what would become of her mate. Would he wake up? Could he wake up? If or when he woke up, would he be alright? Was he hurting? Could he hear her? Could he sense her? Physically? Mentally?

She reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, her fingers running down his face tenderly.

"Draco?" she whispered. "Come back to me, love."

There was no reply, as has been the case for the last five days.

Sniffling, Hermione sat back on her heels and wiped at her eyes. What scared her the most wasn't that he wouldn't or couldn't wake up. It wasn't that he might be hurt. It was that she couldn't feel him in her mind. No matter what had happened, he was always there, conscious or unconscious. However, now there was only a void. And Hermione was scared that that would remain.

"Hermione?"

She looked up as Ginny, Neville, and Luna walked into the room, Ginny holding a book under one arm.

"I forget the password for this one," Ginny said, handing her _An Alphabetical Inquiry into Jams, Jellies, and Preserves_.

Hermione took the book.

"We have a theory," Luna said.

"Sherbet Lemons," Hermione said, _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ appearing in her hand.

"Read this, on page ninety," Neville said, opening the book to a marked page.

Hermione sighed and read, "In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead..."

"Luna, duel with me," Neville said.

Hermione watched as they dueled, Luna shooting off spells faster than Neville could speak. However, it was Neville that won.

Shaking her head, Hermione closed the book. "I don't understand."

"I'll duel you, Neville," Ginny said.

And thus Ginny and Neville dueled, Ginny giving Neville a run for his galleons. Yet, Neville won.

"He can't lose, Hermione," Ginny said, pointing at Neville.

Neville's face twisted into a semblance of a grin. "I can't lose with this wand."

Hermione turned her head to look at Draco and sighed. "So?" she asked, turning back to Ginny.

"A wand that can't be beaten..." Ginny said, pointing at the book, her eyes boring into Hermione.

"We think Neville has the Elder Wand," Luna said.

"Winning a duel against Ginny and Luna doesn't prove anything," she said.

"Hermione, during the battle at Malfoy Manor, Neville accidentally disarmed me," Ginny said.

"Again, that doesn't prove anything."

"Dumbledore's will said the greater good will be fulfilled with this wand in another's hand," Ginny said. "It's in Neville's hand now."

"This is preposterous," Hermione exclaimed. "The Elder Wand is a myth. It doesn't exist."

"Draco's supposed to be a myth, yet he exists," Ginny said timidly, a small smile growing on her face.

Sighing tiredly, Hermione groaned, rubbing at her face.

"Alright, how about if I duel Harry?" Neville said. "I've never won once against Harry."

"Yeah, and Harry doesn't throw duels. He'll give it his all," Ginny said excitedly.

* * *

Harry stood at the window in the living room, one hand on the glass, as he watched the ghost of his mother drift through the yard on the other side.

"Harry?"

Turning, he set his eyes upon his aunt. "Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

She smiled tersely, clasping her hands behind her. "I want to express my condolences," she said. "I know Ron was your best friend."

Harry nodded politely. "Thanks, Aunt Petunia." He watched her for a moment before returning to the window, but his aunt remained.

"So, that's Lily out there?" she asked, standing beside Harry.

"Her ghost," Harry said.

Petunia nodded and worried at her fingers. "I want to..." She sighed.

Harry turned, his eyebrows raised.

"I...I never knew how brave you were," she began.

He stared at her.

"This war, it's...it's so far removed from my life," she said. "Or was, I suppose." Petunia sighed. "I had no idea how important you were to all of this."

Harry nodded.

"Lily once told me of a prophecy," she kept on saying. "Is it true? Is there a prophecy?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"About you and...and..."

Harry nodded.

"I fear for your life, Harry," his aunt said, her voice tense, difficult, but with untold emotion behind it.

At that moment, Neville, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione barreled into the living room.

"Harry, duel with Neville," Ginny demanded, tugging on Harry's shirt sleeve.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it," she said.

"Yeah, Harry, duel with me," Neville said.

"We need to show you something," Luna said. "You won't believe it, but it's true."

Hermione sighed. "They think Neville's got the Elder Wand," she said. "Duel with Neville and beat him."

Sighing, Harry looked to Neville who returned the look insistently, and agreed to a duel. Pushing the furniture against the walls and clearing the floor, the girls stood against the wall as Harry and Neville dueled. When Neville won, Harry demanded a rematch. When Neville won a second time, it was Hermione who wanted them to duel again. The third time Luna smiled.

"It _is_ the Elder Wand," she said, mystified.

Sweat dripping down his face, Harry shook his head in disbelief. "It can't be."

"It used to be Dumbledore's," Ginny said. "He left it to me, but Neville disarmed me at Malfoy Manor. It works perfectly for him, more than perfect. He can't be beat."

Harry gave a short, humorless laugh. "If the Elder Wand exists, it figures that Dumbledore had it," he said.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes wide but her mind turning in calculating circles. "The cloak," she said.

"What cloak?"

"Harry, your invisibility cloak," she said. "What if..."

His eyes widened, bugging out of his face. "I'll go get it," he said, running out of the room. He returned minutes later, his head floating in midair.

"Here, let me see it," Hermione said, reaching up.

They all sat down on the couch, Hermione in the middle, her wand pointed at Harry's invisibility cloak.

"It belonged to your father first," she said, Harry nodded. "Do you know how long your father had it?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"Alright, so we can assume that it's at least seventeen years old," she said. "But most likely much, much older."

"What are you getting on to, Hermione?" Ginny asked, leaning forward.

"Invisibility cloaks, their magic tends to fade over time until they're opaque," she explained. "I remember reading somewhere that that time tends to range between seven and ten years."

Harry looked at his cloak.

"If your invisibility cloak was just a normal, typical invisibility cloak, it should have stopped turning the wearer invisible years ago," she said. Hermione sat back against the couch. "This is unbelievable."

"You think this is the Cloak of Invisibility?" Harry asked. "The second hallow?"

"I don't want to say yes, but I don't want to deny it either," she said.

Luna then remembered a memory, a memory they had to watch.

"We're to watch it after the wand has been claimed. Neville, you've claimed the Elder Wand," she said, running off.

She returned with the pensieve and the corked memory. Spilling it into the stone basin, they dipped their heads into the pensieve and watched.

Dropping into Dumbledore's office, they watched him as he sat at his desk. Snow fell outside the window and the wall calendar revealed it to be mere days before the Hogwarts Battle. A festive Christmas tree stood in the corner of his office, ornaments whirling and whizzing around its needled foliage. Charmed fairy lights drifted through the tree, the faint lyrics of Christmas carols gliding through the air. At his desk, Dumbledore studied a golden snitch, turning it around in his hands. Pointing at it, he mumbled a few words, frowned, turned it again, and mumbled the words again. When nothing worked, he sighed and sat back in his chair. Stroking his beard, an idea came to mind. Leaning forward, he swirled his wand around the snitch in a complex pattern, chanting a different string of words.

The snitch popped open and Dumbledore uttered a surprised reply.

Harry leaned in closely as the Headmaster picked up something else from the desk. "That's the ring," he said as Dumbledore turned the ring, the black stone cracked down the middle, around in his hand. He looked at Hermione. "The ring Dumbledore showed me that used to belong to Marvolo Gaunt. It's a horcrux."

Dumbledore carefully placed the ring into the snitch, closed the snitch up, and repeated his chant and wand movements. Then, looking up, he spoke. "My friends, you should know that you are in possession of the wand and the cloak," he said, his eyes directed to the far wall. "You should know what this is, now."

The memory ended as Dumbledore placed the tip of his wand against the side of his head, extracting the memory of what had just happened.

* * *

Draco began to stir, turning onto his side and curling into a ball. Across the house, a great clatter followed by pounding feet announced Hermione's arrival in his room. She pounced on his bed.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, straddling his body.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

_**Draco**_, she said more gently.

His mind responded, opening up to her. _**Hmmm?**_

"Wake up," she demanded, shaking his shoulder. "Draco, wake up!"

"Urlurg...stop," he managed, slurring his words. "I'm awake."

"You're awake," she whispered.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. His face was pale, paler than usual, and his silver eyes had dulled, but he was there.

"Why's your shirt wet?" he asked.

Hermione glanced down at her sopping wet shirt and charmed it dry. "Oh, we were making soup," she said. "I dropped the pot." She blushed and smiled.

Draco chuckled quietly and then sighed. "Where am I?" he asked, closing his eyes again.

"You're at Haven."

"Haven?" he asked and then sighed in relief. "I'm at Haven."

"Yeah, and you're ok...right?" Her hands ran down his body, testing his limbs.

"I'm fine," he said, flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes. "Just weak. What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"Um..." he mumbled, rubbing at his head. "I was dueling...dueling with Father and...and...oh," he sighed. "Oh..."

"What _oh?_" Hermione insisted. "Harry said you were hit with a spell and then...well..."

"Well what?"

"You were hit with a spell," she said. "You..."

"Just say it," he said. "I killed my father, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"I remember that," he said, turning his head to the side. "Hey," he said to the rest of the DA Core who stood packed in the doorway.

Suddenly, he had four other people crowding around his bed, all fighting to get a word in.

"You alright, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded. "Yeah," he said, struggling to sit up. Hermione pushed pillows behind him. "I...oh, bugger, I'm dizzy." His head dropped into his hands.

_**You ok?**_

_** Fine, just fine. Give me a moment. **_He took a breath of air and looked up. "I'm fine," he said. "What was I hit with?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I'd never heard of it before and most of it wasn't in English, at least I don't think so."

"Ugh, Merlin, whatever it was, I feel as weak as a first year," he said, rubbing at his eyes.

Hermione pushed him back into bed. "You need rest," she determined, turning to raise her eyebrows at everybody else.

"No, wait," Draco said. "Where's Weasley? The bloke not happy I'm awake?"

Hermione sat back on her haunches and looked up at Harry.

Draco shifted his gaze between his friends and his mate. "What is it?" he asked, not liking the expressions on their faces not one bit. "What happened to Weasley?"

"He's dead," Ginny said, running through her words quickly, the letters mashing together.

"No, really, where is he?"

"I told you. He's dead."

"Dead? What...how? What happened?" he asked. Again, he pushed himself up. When Hermione tried to get him to lay back down, he pushed her hand out of the way. "What happened to Weasley?" he demanded loudly.

Neville hugged himself tightly and studied the carpet.

"Longbottom?" Draco said.

"_Don't_," Hermione said, getting in his face and shoving him back down. _**Don't ask him that. He was there, Draco. Please, don't ask him that.**_

Draco leaned around Hermione and looked at Neville, noting his thin face and pallid skin tone. "Neville, what happened?" he asked softly, his voice a near whisper.

He waited for an answer, but nobody said anything.

* * *

Slowly, Draco regained his strength, gradually getting used to sitting up, then standing, and then taking short walks around the house. Three days after he'd woken, he was making his usual circuit from the living room, through the kitchen, past the dinning room, and back down the hallway when he paused at the study door. Neville stood looking out the window. Draco slowly approached the other boy.

"It helps to use the pensieve," Draco said.

"Huh?" Neville asked, turning around.

"Your memories," he explained. "It helps to put them in a pensieve. They're not so...harsh, then."

Neville shook his head and returned his interest to the window. He stood there silently for a few moments, aware of Draco standing beside him.

"It really works?" Neville asked.

Draco nodded.

"You've tried it?"

"Let's say there's a few things in my past that I'd rather forget than remember," Draco said, giving Neville a pointed look.

Neville glanced up at the pensieve on the shelf. "I might try that, then," he said, clasping his hands in front of him.

Draco nodded silently and watched as Neville fidgeted with his wand. "Rumor has it that's the Elder Wand," he said.

Neville snorted, holding up the wand. "Can't really believe it, right? The deathly hallows are real. Who'd have thought..." Neville grinned crookedly and looked at Draco. "You wanna duel?"

Draco laughed. "Not today, Longbottom. You might actually beat me," he said.

"That's why I asked," Neville admitted, smiling openly.

Still laughing, Draco parted with Neville and made his way down the hallway and into the living room.

"Hey, love," Hermione said, craning her neck around. A book sat in her lap.

Draco dropped down beside her, leaning against her. "What're you reading?"

She held up _Tales of Beedle the Bard_**. **"How're you feeling?" she asked, brushing hair out of his face.

He swatted her hand away. "Leave it," he said. "I'm fine."

"Alright," Hermione sighed, returning to her book.

Harry stalked into the living room, Ginny hot on his tail.

"You good for nothing, lying, scheming, prat," she yelled, clenching her hands into fists.

Draco looked up at the impending argument as Hermione sighed. "Not this again," she muttered.

"Ginny, I've explained to you a dozen times," he said.

"And I still don't see why I have to stay here," she argued.

"Hermione, Luna, and Draco are staying too," he said.

"Wait," Draco said, pushing off the couch as he stood up. "I'm staying where? What are we talking about?"

Harry groaned, placing a hand over his face.

Hermione got up and grabbed Draco's shoulder. "We decided this when you were unconscious," she said.

"Decided what?"

"We decided that, in the face of Ron's death, that only Harry and Neville would go to Gringotts to get Hufflepuff's cup," she explained.

"Why Neville? And why not me? I've been in the Lestrange vault," he argued.

"Draco, look at yourself," Hermione said. "The mere act of arguing is tiring you out."

"No, it's not. I'm fine."

"You're sweating," she pointed out.

Draco rubbed at his forehead and growled. "Then, why Neville."

"Because I have the Elder Wand," he said, coming into the room. "And you're in no shape to go anywhere."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I still don't see why I can't go," Ginny said, tears brimming. "I'm good with a wand. You know that, Harry. You know that!"

"Ginny, I'm not questioning your ability with a wand. Everybody knows you're fantastic. However...look at you," he exclaimed, pointing at her.

Tears welled over her eyes and ran down her already tear-stained face. "What about me?"

He sighed. "Ginny, I mean no insult by saying this, but you cry at the drop of a hat," he said.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded.

"Hermione, what are we going to do if she bursts into tears in the middle of the mission?"

As if on cue, Ginny did indeed burst into tears, hot, angry tears.

"I just lost my brother. So, sorry if I'm feeling a little emotional, Harry," she yelled.

"And he was my best friend."

Ginny folded her arms and stalked out of the living room, one of the bedroom doors slamming behind her. Harry gripped his hair and sighed in frustration.


	66. Memoria, Agri, Quod Vas

**Author's Note - **Woo! Another chapter. Three left to go.

**Another Note** - The chapter title means, "The Memory, The Field, and The Cup," in Latin. Additionally, there's some French in this chapter:

Où est Maman? - Where is Mama?

Je veux Maman - I want Mama.

Ne crier pas. Il attriste les rouettes pour vous voir crier. - Don't cry. It saddens the rouettes to see you cry. (A rouette is one of Luna's creatures I made up.)

Les rouettes détestent la tristesse. - The rouettes hate crying.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius. That was all my doing.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Six**

"Memoria, Agri, Quod Vas"

* * *

Harry and Neville left Haven a day later. The rest of the DA Core parted with them in the kitchen. Ginny stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and eyes glaring holes into Harry's body. Right before they apparated, Harry turned to Ginny.

"You can't be angry with me forever," he said. "What if something goes wrong and we don't come back?"

She began to cry. "Don't say that," she said. "You can't say that."

Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny. "Then don't be angry with me," he said.

"I love you," she whispered into his shoulder.

"I love you too, Ginny," he said back.

They left first thing in the morning, right when the bank opened. Days had been spent planning and plotting their strategy.

"Griphook knows me," Harry had said at one point. "That's our key."

"That and goblins always remain neutral in war," Hermione said.

Neville slipped a vial of Polyjuice Potion into his pocket formulated to make him look like Roldolphus Lestrange.

"If anything goes wrong, remember the yetzels live in Gringotts," Luna whispered in his ear. "They're my friends."

"The yetzels?" Neville asked.

Luna nodded. "They look like dust," she said. "But tell them who you are and they'll help you." She smiled dreamily up at him.

"Alright," he said. "I'll remember that."

Content, Luna kissed him quickly on the lips and stepped back.

"If you two aren't back by dinnertime," Draco said, stepping into the kitchen. "We're coming after you. So, don't screw things up, Potter."

"Thanks, Malfoy, that's real comforting," Harry replied sarcastically.

"Just trying to help," he scathed.

Once the two boys had left, their apparitions leaving behind barely a sound, all that was left to do was to wait. And they hated waiting. Hermione paced the living room, Draco watching from the couch. Ginny locked herself in the girls' bedroom and Luna busied herself in front of the kitchen window doing what, for all intents and purposes, looked like absolutely nothing. The hours of the day ticked on, morning slipping past as sunlight streamed in through some of the windows. Lunch was skipped, nobody having the barest tinges of an appetite. Draco napped from lunchtime onward, his hands propped behind his head and his legs hanging off the couch. Hermione kept up her pacing, wringing her hands together and looking over at Draco.

"They should be back by now, right?" she asked.

He didn't answer and she prodded his mind.

_**Draco!**_

Gasping, he sat up. "What? What's the matter?"

She climbed into his lap. "They should be back by now," she said.

Groaning, he rubbed at his eyes and craned his neck around to glance at the clock. "Love, it's only been a few hours," he said. "You need to calm down."

"I just can't," she said. "I knew we should have gone with them."

"And what?" he said. "Take a break in the middle so I can take a nap? Have the Weaslette burst into tears? Risk loosing..." Draco cut off, the words sticking to the inside of his throat, but Hermione knew what he was going to say. If they all went, there was a greater chance that they would loose somebody else. She knew this, but it didn't make the situation any better.

Hermione sighed and looked at the fireplace. "I'm just worried."

"Come here," he said, pulling her down to lay beside him.

Sliding down, Hermione nestled next to him, her head tucked in beside his.

Reaching up, Draco grabbed a navy blue throw and arranged it over the both of them. "Your toes are freezing," he mentioned, pulling the blanket over her as he let one of his wings stretch out and hang onto the floor. The other one remained tucked beneath himself. "How come your toes are always freezing?"

Hermione shrugged, brushing a curl of hair out of her eyes. She allowed herself to be lulled into a semi-state of sleep. Draco wrapped his arms around her, his chin buried in her hair and he let his thoughts wander. Hermione felt his mind trail off, touching on an array of emotions, flitting between various thoughts. Over time, as she half-dozed, his emotions began to settle into melancholy, and remained. Sighing, she peeled her eyes open and reached up, placing a hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat of it through his shirt.

He glanced down. "Hi."

Hermione looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"You're sad," she said, trailing her fingers over his heart.

Draco shook his head.

"Draco," she scolded softly. "I can very well almost read your mind. You can't hide anything from me."

He smiled sadly. "Yeah, I know. I was hoping you wouldn't notice, though," he said.

"Why?" she asked, laying her hand flat over the lub-dub rhythm beneath his chest.

He ruminated on the question for a while, sighing, and casting his eyes around the room.

_**Draco...**_

_** I know, I know...**_

_** I can see how you feel. Please don't think that.**_

_** I can't help it**_, he said. _**How many people actually kill their father and feel no remorse afterward?**_

_** He was hardly a father to you.**_

He said nothing, throwing up a few barriers, though nothing she couldn't detect or break through.

_**Draco**_, she said to him sternly. _**Draco Malfoy, you open your mind to me. Don't close me out. You may put on a stoic face and pretend that it doesn't bother you, but don't forget that I can see right through your masks. **_She pushed herself up onto her elbows. _**Was he going to kill you?**_

Silver eyes swiveled around to meet brown.

_**Answer the question.**_

Draco took a moment, but he answered almost reluctantly. _**Yes.**_

_** Then I'm glad you killed him.**_

His eyes widened.

_**I would rather you lived than he did. If it was a choice between him and you, I pick you. The thought of living without you kills me, Draco. Do you understand that? It would absolutely kill me to live without you. I don't know if I'd be able to do it. You have managed to wiggle your scrawny arse into my heart as deep as you could get, and it would tear me to pieces to think you dead **__**and buried. Do you understand that, Draco? **_She grabbed one of his hands and held it to her chest. _**Say something.**_

He said nothing, but nodded his head and squeezed the hand she held.

* * *

Harry and Neville returned to Haven well after dinner as light began to wane in some of the windows. They arrived in the kitchen in the midst of an argument regarding going after Harry and Neville between the other members of the DA Core. Their return caused silence to descend on the kitchen.

"What took you so long?" Ginny was the first to screech, placing a hand on Harry's chest and pushing him.

Harry stuttered through a fractured account of the defenses, enchantments, and hexes protecting the Lestrange vault while Neville told his account, stumbling over their interactions with the goblins, a heart stopping moment where Bellatrix Lestrange walked right past them, and something about a dragon.

"...but bloody hell, if it weren't for the invisibility cloak, she'd have seen us," Neville exclaimed.

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione said, holding up a hand. "You said there was a dragon?"

"A dragon?" Neville asked, bewildered for a moment. "Oh, yeah, the dragon..."

"There was a dragon down in the lowest vaults, where the Lestrange vault was. It was security, of a sorts," Harry said.

Hermione's eyes widened.

"They had her chained down, Hermione," Harry said. "We couldn't just leave her chained up like that."

"Plus it was a good diversion," Neville said. "Everyone was too bothered by the Hungarian Horntail to notice Harry or myself. Rather brilliant idea, I must say."

"Yeah, that was good, mate," Harry said, grinning at Neville. "Though I never knew you could scream like that."

Draco laughed.

"Malfoy, you'd scream too if you had a dragon hot on your tail," Neville said pointedly.

He merely snickered.

"So, did you get the cup?" Ginny asked, looking between them.

Harry mussed up his hair. "Um, there was a complication," he said.

"Elaborate," Hermione said next.

"The cup wasn't there, but this was in its place," Neville said, handing her a rolled up parchment and a corked vial.

"That's a memory," Luna breathed, her eyes shining with interest. "I'll go get the pensieve."

While Luna ran off to grab the pensieve, Hermione took the rolled parchment and flattened it out on the kitchen table. She read the words written within.

_ June 27, 1996_

_ To the DA Core - I had long thought it necessary to move this. - NM_

"NM? That's my mother," Draco said, reaching over to grab the parchment. He held it in both hands, his fingertips running over her neatly scrawled message. "She wrote this a month before she died."

Hermione reached out and rubbed his back. "It's yours then," she said.

Ginny nodded as did Neville and Harry.

Draco dipped his head once in affirmation, folded the note, and slipped it into his pocket.

Luna returned and set the heavy basin on the kitchen table and uncorked the memory.

* * *

It was a field they dropped into, tall grasses smelling as sweet as summertime waving in the light breezes that graced across their skin. A dome of blue sky hovered above them, the bright sun warm and calming. Fencing the field in on three sides were tall trees. Sunlight broke through the trees and cascaded down to the forest floor, the scene inviting. Far away, a bubbling brook promised the tranquility of water.

The DA Core inhaled deeply and Ginny ran her hand through the grass. It whispered back gently.

Behind them, somebody apparated in and they jumped, wands at the ready though they knew who it would be regardless of the fact that this was a memory, and the people in memories couldn't hurt the viewers. Narcissa Malfoy appeared, wearing a blue gown. In her left hand she hugged a golden cup close to her. A shovel was clutched in her right hand. She began walking across the meadow.

Draco followed her, his eyes trained up on his late mother's back. Hermione grabbed his hand and the DA Core trailed behind Draco. He kept up with his mother at a trotting pace. Her footsteps went unheard beneath the grass, but she kept up a quick step, glancing behind her nervously every few minutes.

Across the field, a huge tree stood near where the meadow blended into the forest. Its canopy stretched beyond imagination, offering up shade from the mid-day sun. As Narcissa arrived beneath the sheltered branches of the tree, the memory ended.

The DA Core returned to the kitchen.

"Alright, so we know that its hidden in a meadow somewhere," Harry said.

Draco sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs. As Luna bottled the memory back up, stoppering it with a cork, he glanced at her.

"I want that memory," he said.

Luna glanced down at him. "I'll hold onto it," she said peacefully.

Draco shook his head. "No, that's my mother's memory, Lovegood," he said. "I want it."

Hermione rested her hand on his shoulder, watching desperation leech into his eyes.

_**Let her hold onto it, love**_, she said.

_**No, it's my mother's memory**_, he argued. _**I want it. It should be mine.**_

Luna stared at Draco as if she could understand his words with Hermione. "I will hold onto it for now," she said again. "If you want to view it, you just have to ask."

Draco clenched his teeth, wanting to argue, but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him. He sighed and sat back down in the kitchen chair.

Ginny stood leaning against the counter, her back to the kitchen sink. She sighed quietly, frowning and staring at the floor. Then, scratching her head, she looked up and at the kitchen doorway. Her brow furrowed deeper. She ran a few fingers through her hair. Then, without a word, she walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Stepping into the bathroom, she grabbed the windowsill and peered outside.

"I knew it," she breathed, returning to the kitchen with a quick step. "I know where the cup is."

"Huh?" Neville asked, half dozing at the table.

Harry started. "What?"

"The cup...where?" Hermione asked, sitting beside Draco.

"Of course," Luna said, smiling.

"The bathroom window," Ginny said. "It's the exact same field out there."

The DA Core hurried down the hallway and packed into the small bathroom. With their noses pressed against the glass, they looked out onto the peaceful meadow outside and the large tree off in the distance where Narcissa had buried the cup.

Hermione backed away from the window. "_Alohomora,_" she said, waving her wand.

Harry shook his head, tugging on the window. "Nope, still locked," he said.

"Let me try," Ginny said, casting another, higher level opening charm. However, the window remained locked.

One after the other, the DA Core tried opening the window, trying every spell, charm, and incantation that they knew. When nothing opened the window, they pulled books off the study shelves, paging through them several times over.

"How about this one. It looks promising," Luna said, pointing her wand at the window. "_Adaperio_." Nothing happened. "Oh, guess not, then."

Throughout the rest of the day and into the evening, the DA Core drifted back and forth from the study to the bathroom, trying one one spell or another, nothing opening the window.

Later that night, Harry had his nose buried in _Essential Household Spells and Charms: Edition Thirteen_. Finger poised over one spell in particular, he walked down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door.

"What?" Draco replied in annoyance. "What do you want Potter?"

"How'd you know it was me?" Harry asked.

"Because who else would knock on the bathroom door while I'm in here?" he answered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Can you hurry up?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Why? You want to know why?" Draco asked. "No, Potter, you can't know why and I'll bloody well take my sweet time. Not that it's any of your business," he muttered.

Across the house Hermione burst out laughing, tapering off into giggles that reached the hallway outside the bathroom.

Harry sighed. "Fine, I'll wait," he said, leaning against the opposite wall.

When Draco emerged, he strutted past Harry, head held high. Harry muttered to himself, rolling his eyes, as he entered the bathroom. Giving the window another tug and studying it up close, he sighed and waved his wand. "_Anticompingo_," he cast, tugged on the window once more, and retreated back to the study with a sigh.

* * *

Another day or two passed as the DA Core tried in vain to open the window. In frustration, Harry had taken to throwing things at the window, heavy and dense objects that would have normally broken a window. However, the window remained intact.

"Do you really need to keep doing that, Harry?" Hermione asked the previous night, sitting on the toilet, a book open in her lap. Ginny stood next to the shower, frowning in thought, a pale hand scratching at her head.

Harry sighed, placing the stone toothbrush holder back beside the sink, and hoisted himself up onto the counter, knocking his heels against the cupboard beneath the sink.

Hermione flipped a page, her finger running down the page. "Why don't we try this one?" she asked, looking up at Draco hovering over her. He'd wedged himself into the corner, most of the DA Core packed into the bathroom trying to unravel the mystery of the window.

Draco took the book from her, reading through the page, waving his wand back and forth to get the general wand movements down. "Alright. It's worth a shot," he said. "You do the first part and I'll do the second?"

"Sounds good."

"What are you two thinking of?" Ginny asked, leaning over the book as Harry looked over.

"Plotting the area outside the window," she said.

"Oh, good idea," Ginny said.

Standing up, Hermione faced the window, Draco beside her. Waving their wands in identical patterns, the choreography of which was displaced by a mere two seconds, they began winding the plotting spell around the window, pushing it beyond and into the field. Finished, they held their breaths and watched as the window began to glow blue. However, instead of holding its color and turning white, it quickly died out. Sighing, Hermione plopped back down and shuffled through the book once more.

* * *

The next morning, Neville scrutinized the window while he brushed his teeth. His eyes trailed around the frame of the window, studying the glass and settling on the lock at the top of the window. Spitting into the sink, he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth and, frowning, reached over and flipped the latch on the window's lock. Neville lifted the window, letting a warm, sultry breeze into the bathroom. Shocked, his mouth hung open, his toothbrush clattering to the floor.

* * *

"Harry, you go first."

"No, you figured out how to open it," Harry said, gesturing with his hand at the open window.

"But you're our leader. All I did was unlock the window," Neville said. "Naturally, you should go first."

"I agree," Ginny said, everybody else nodding their head.

"Alright. I guess I can't argue with that," Harry said.

Ducking down, Harry stuck his right leg through the window, his limb receiving no resistance to the outside world. Shimmying through, he pulled his left leg through, and dropped to the ground, landing in the soft, summer grass. Wand out, he surveyed the immediate area, but detected no danger.

"All's clear," he called back, twisting around. The window frame floated in midair. "Huh, that's weird."

"What's weird?" Neville asked, his head poking out the window.

"The window's floating," he said, pointing at the window.

Craning his neck upwards, Neville laughed. "It is!" Then, pulling his body through the window, he gripped onto the upper window sash and jumped to the ground. "Dumbledore was brilliant," he muttered, watching as Ginny and then Luna dropped to the ground.

Draco came next, chucking a shovel out the window before he jumped to the ground. Hermione climbed through the window last, turning around to gaze up a the open window floating in the middle of the field. Parts of their bathroom were visible through the window.

"How interesting," she muttered.

Draco laughed. However, anything he might have said was cut short as Luna went rigid, her eyes glazing over and the words that followed falling from her lips in the mechanical tone of a prophecy.

"The child will come within the shadows of death and the birth of the next device created with the hand of a loyal servant," she foretold, snapping out of her trance as the last word still echoed in the DA Core's ears. Frowning, she tilted her head to the side, the beads in her hair clinking together. "Was that just a prophecy I told?"

Neville nodded.

"What did I say?"

Hermione restated what Luna had prophesied, Luna nodding thoughtfully.

"This doesn't mean what I think it means, does it?" Harry asked.

Neville looked over warily. "What do you think it means?"

"The device...that can't be a..." he began.

"My parents," Hermione said, swallowing thickly, taking Draco's hand. "When he...he...well, he was trying to make another horcrux, but he failed. I wouldn't put it past him to try to make another one."

"Actually, I'd be surprised if he didn't try," Ginny said. "But what's this about a child?"

"And the hand of a faithful servant?" Neville paled at the thought.

"I'm sure we'll find out," Harry said. "We need to get the cup."

Warmth trickled into their skin, summer's scent wafting around them in lazy circles. It was sweet and calming. The DA Core set out across the field, heading towards the tree where they had seen Narcissa bury Hufflepuff's cup in her memory. The tree was a giant oak, rising into the sky to tower over the DA Core and the field. As they traipsed under it's expansive foliage, the temperature dropped significantly, the shade cooling the summer heat. Draco handled the shovel, circling the tree's base. Coming to a stop halfway around the tree, he sunk the shovel's spade into the soft dirt. Stepping on the shovel with one foot, he worked it into the ground with little effort, scooping out the dirt and depositing it off to the side. The DA Core circled around, watching as Draco dug into the earth. They got down on their hands and knees, helping to scoop the dirt from the hole.

"Wait! Stop," Harry shouted.

Draco paused mid scoop, bending down to see what Harry had stopped him for.

Harry reached in with his fingers, wiggling them into the dirt and grabbing onto something buried deep within. Pulling on it, he unearthed a mud-encased cup, the barest tinges of gold shining beneath the muck.

"That's it!" Ginny exclaimed. "That's the cup."

Draco beamed, reaching out blindly for Hermione's hand, which she took.

Harry brushed off some of the bigger clods of earth, wiping at the cup with his dirty hands. "That's Hufflepuff's cup," he said.

The DA Core quickly filled in the hole, replacing the grassy sod and charming it back to what it had looked like before they had cut into the ground. Cup in hand, they slowly made their way back across the field of tall grass towards the window still hanging in the middle of the air.

The child appeared at the edge of the forest, stumbling out of the brush. She couldn't have been more than three, her tiny face still holding the resemblances of toddlerhood. The DA Core froze and watched the child. However, just as quickly as they froze, they sprung into action.

"Maman! Maman!" Face streaked in dirt, her clothes filthy and covered in mud and what looked like blood, she began to cry. Her blue eyes watched as the six tall figures approached her. She pulled at her dirty hair in distress and confusion.

Luna knelt down in front of her and the little girl shied away.

"M-Maman," she cried.

"Bonjour," Luna said softly.

Harry and Neville exchanged quizzical looks.

"Où est Maman?" she cried. "Je veux Maman."

"Ne crier pas. Il attriste les rouettes pour vous voir crier."

The girl hiccuped and regarded Luna oddly. "Les rouettes?"

"Oh, oui. Les rouettes détestent la tristesse," Luna explained, pointing at the forest and smiling gently at the child.

"Les rouettes detestent la tristesse?" the girl asked, her voice rising in pitch at the end, her brow turning downward quizzically.

"Oh, oui," Luna said, jabbering on with the little girl for a few more moments. Before long, the little girl began pointing at the forest, her words leaping from her mouth as she told Luna something that the rest of the DA Core could only guess upon. Once finished, Luna looked at the DA Core. "She says there's something wrong with her mother and father. Some men in black cloaks came and there was shouting. Alice says she ran from her house," Luna explained, pointing at the girl, Alice.

Hermione covered her mouth. "You don't think?"

"Their house is just on the other side of the trees," Luna said, taking Alice's hand. "We should have a look."

A short argument proceeded their decision to traipse through the forest in search of Alice's house. However, their search for horcruxes trumped the threat of Deatheaters. The forest draped cool shadows upon their shoulders as they stepped from the meadow and into the tree's cover. Alice lead the way, her hand gripping and tugging on Luna's. She cried and babbled on, Luna responding to everything she said.

_**She's speaking French**_, Hermione said to Draco as they walked through the damp forest floor, dappled sunlight catching upon their clothes. _**You think we're in France?**_

_** Probably**_, Draco said. _**You think her parents were attacked by Deatheaters?**_

_** I would hate to think so, but the prophecy just about proves it.**_

Hermione murmured to herself and shook her head.

The trees thinned as they arrived at the edge of the forest within the hour. A small, squat cottage sat in a little clearing, a paved road passing in front of it. Window boxes of bright flowers invaded the windows. Alice continued to cry and sob, her words smashed together and hiccups jarring her chest. The DA Core crossed the road.

The door was ajar and the moment they stepped into the house it was apparent that her parents were dead. Their bodies were laid out on the floor, hands joined, and a dark red circle hastily painted around them. Runes were evenly spaced around the circle and pools of red, the same dark shade as the circle and runes were painted were smeared across the floor. A struggle had occurred, a struggle for one's life. The DA Core circled around, staring at the scene laid out before them.

Hermione covered her mouth, saying to Draco what she couldn't say outloud. _**These are the same runes, Draco**_, she whispered in his head.

He took her around the waist, circling one wing around her, protecting her. Resting his chin in her hair, he replied, _**Except he succeeded this time. It reeks of power. No Muggle is capable of having this sort of power.**_

_** You smelled it too?**_

_** That...and the blood. I hate that smell.**_

Outside, three pops announced new arrivals. There were several shouts and heavy footsteps approaching. Quickly, the DA Core tensed and disappeared right in the same second. Luna grabbed Alice and apparated back to Haven last, just as the door was blown open, Deatheaters storming the house.

They arrived in the kitchen in their usual tumble.

"The bathroom window!" Harry screamed, jumping to his feet. "It's still open."

Not knowing if the Deatheaters could detect the breach of Haven's security, the DA Core ran to the bathroom. Skidding around the corner, they dropped to the ground as a green light filled the bathroom and hit the hallway wall. They held their breaths, listening as the shouts and exclaims of the Deatheaters coming from right outside the window. Neville, his heart racing, found courage and reached up, slamming the window shut. A curse bounced off the window as their location became invisible once again, and the DA Core breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who is this child?"

Petunia appeared in the hallway, Alice in tow.

"Non! Non! Maman," she cried.

Luna took Alice, murmuring to her in French as Harry's aunt stared on.

"There was a Deatheater attack," Harry said. "Her parents are dead."

"We couldn't leave her," Ginny added. "I'm going to owl my mum. She can't stay here."

"We can't owl, Gin," Harry reminded her. "No owl."

She shrugged. "We still have The Revolution," she said. "We'll get in contact with her through there. Plus, I'd really like to see my mum." Ginny's eyes watered and she smiled wanly. "I haven't seen her since...since..."

Harry grabbed Ginny and hugged her. "I know," he whispered. "I still miss him...we all do."

Death hung around them like a cloud, each being haunted by it in their own way. They couldn't escape it.


	67. Duodeviginti

**Author's Note** - Yay! Another chapter. Two to go.

**Another Note - **The chapter title means, "The Eighth," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Seven**

"Duodeviginti"

* * *

Molly Weasley answered the DA Core's message with the speed of a grief-stricken mother having not seen her youngest child in nearly a year. Arrangements were made for her to arrive via the portrait two mornings after the DA Core returned to Haven. She arrived and was immediately met with a sobbing Ginny. Mother and daughter cried and talked quietly for some time before either addressed the rest of the household.

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, bringing Harry into her arms. She hugged each of the DA Core one after the other. More tears and crying commenced.

Once everybody's eyes were dry, or as dry as they would get, Mrs. Weasley straightened back up and regarded the older woman standing in doorway to the kitchen.

"Petunia Dursley," she said with a touch of disdain to her voice.

Petunia nodded her head. "And you are?"

"Molly Weasley," she said, holding out her hand, though reluctantly. "Ginny and Ronald's mother."

Taking the other woman's plump hand and shaking it, Petunia bowed her head slightly. "I express my condolences for your son. I've lost my son as well."

"The loss of a child is a terrible burden to bear," she replied before bursting into tears.

Petunia found tears welling in her eyes and she and Mrs. Weasley spent a few moments talking quietly. Then, Mrs. Weasley regarded Petunia for a moment, her head tilted slightly as if she were considering something. "The Order has a few extra rooms where we are currently staying...the location secret, of course. If you are willing, we could use an extra hand over there."

Petunia smiled uncomfortably. "I don't know how much use I would be, no magic and all."

Mrs. Weasley waved the concern away. "Magic or not, we need all the help we can get," she said.

Rubbing her hands together nervously, she glanced at her nephew. "If it will be alright with Harry, I would really enjoy that," she replied.

"That's fine, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied. "I'm sure you would much rather like someone your own age to talk to. We've all been rather absent lately."

With that finalized, Mrs. Weasley's eyes traveled down to the small girl hiding behind Petunia. "Is this the girl, then?"

Luna nodded, speaking to Alice and beckoning towards her. Alice jabbered back, tears falling from her cheeks.

"What language is she speaking?" Mrs. Weasley asked, approaching Alice. "Hello, there, darling."

"French," Luna answered, introducing Alice to Mrs. Weasley.

Kneeling down, Mrs. Weasley spoke a few words of broken French to Alice. The little girl nodded, teary eyed. "Fleur has been staying with us, she and her sister, Gabrielle. They've been teaching me the language here and there. She and Bill were married last month, though you all know that. Such a lovely ceremony," she went on. "Though I wished for a large wedding, but you know the circumstances."

The DA Core had received word of Bill and Fleur's wedding through The Revolution. It was a small, private ceremony held at the Order's headquarters followed by dinner cooked by Mrs. Weasley and Fleur's mother. In another life, another time, the ceremony would have been held outside with dozens upon dozens of people attending. However, there was the war to think of and weddings, though a happy time, were difficult.

They chatted briefly about the wedding, Ginny asking about the dresses and Hermione inquiring about Fleur's parents. At four o'clock, tea was served and Molly and Petunia left shortly thereafter, Alice in tow.

* * *

The DA Core knew one thing, and one thing only. Lord Voldemort had created a new horcrux. However, what that horcrux was or where it was hidden was a completely different story. They researched and argued, talked it out and fought some more, but it didn't change anything. Eventually, with two other horcruxes out there, they had to move on.

"So, the diary and the ring are destroyed, and we've found the locket and the cup," Harry said.

"Both of which we still need to destroy," Ginny added. "We have the basilisk fangs."

"Just not here," Harry said. "If destroying the ring destroyed Dumbledore's hand..."

Hermione shook her head. "We can't do it here. You're right."

"Then where?" Draco asked.

"Hogwarts?" Neville suggested, shrugging indecisively.

"Really, Longbottom?" Draco drawled. "You honestly think we should go to Hogwarts, which is run by Voldemort, to destroy his horcruxes?"

"Have I ever told you the story about Ravenclaw's lost diadem?" Luna spoke up, smiling softly at her friends.

"Ravenclaw's lost what?" Harry asked.

"What's a diadem?" Ginny followed.

"Lovegood, now's not the time for a story," Draco said.

"It's a rather interesting story. Of that, I promise," she said.

Hermione sighed, letting her hands fall into her lap. "Might as well," she said. "Go on, Luna."

Luna grinned, her teeth shining. "When the four founders created Hogwarts, they each brought with them an artifact that would add to Hogwarts magical signature. Godric Gryffindor brought a sword, Salazar Slytherin had a locket, Helga Hufflepuff offered a golden cup, and Rowena Ravenclaw carried with her a diadem. It had belonged to her grandmother, and before that, her grandmother's grandmother. Well, when Rowena had a daughter named Helena, Helena was terribly jealous..."

"She wanted to be smart because she was only average," Hermione said. "I read about this in _Hogwarts: A History_."

Nodding, Luna continued, "It was rumored that the diadem, when worn, would grant the wearer with wisdom. Helena wanted that diadem, she wanted it terribly so. So, she stole it from her mother and hid it."

"Where is it?" Ginny asked.

"Nobody knows," Luna said.

"And what's a diadem?" Harry asked again, flustered.

"A tiara, of sorts," Hermione told him. "I read that it had an inscription written on it."

"This is correct," Luna said, smiling openly. "Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure. It's the Ravenclaw motto."

At that, Neville stood up, his eyes wide. "I've seen the diadem," he exclaimed.

"Sit down, Longbottom," Draco demanded. "Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I've really seen it. During the Hogwarts Battle when I was in the Room of Requirement. I needed a place to hide and it gave me one."

"I remember the room," Harry said. "The one with all the junk in it."

Neville nodded fervently. "I had found a tiara sitting on a pile of Muggle trading cards. That was written on it."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, skeptical.

"Yes," he insisted.

"And it's in the Room of Requirement?" Ginny said.

"Yes."

"It's a horcrux," Luna said. "He wanted the diadem for it's wisdom."

"Well, looks like we're going to Hogwarts after all," Harry said.

* * *

Summer had shifted into fall by the time the DA Core returned to Hogwarts. With a direct route to Hogwarts through the fairy portrait, they congregated in the sitting room, Harry reaching up to swing the portrait to the side. However, no matter how hard he tugged, the portrait would not budge.

"Let me try, Potter," Draco said, drawing his wand. "_Alohamora!_"

Nothing.

After several spells that did nothing, save for one that left a black scorch on the portrait's frame, the DA Core sighed in defeat.

"Apparate, then?" Neville suggested.

In the middle of the night, six figures appeared in the fields on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

"Why do we always do these things in the middle of the night?" Ginny complained, crouching in the dry grass.

"It's safer," Hermione answered, her eyes cast out across the field.

Hogsmeade sat half a kilometer away in dead darkness. The Forbidden Forest sat to their right, calls and screeches from the animals living within sending crawling shivers down their spines. It was a full moon, making the darkness close in around them. They moved quickly towards the deserted wizarding town, its streets vacant and its stores empty. Rubble and trash littered the streets.

"This is so sad," Hermione whispered, glancing about, remembering when Hogsmeade was a bustling, busy town filled with the charm typical to wizarding establishments.

Draco took her hand.

Even with a full moon, the darkness surrounding Hogsmeade was thick and suffocating. They didn't dare light their wands for fear of being detected. Their ears stood at attention, their bodies jumping with each sound. Reaching the end of the town, they passed by the train station, it being as quiet and deserted as Hogsmeade. Crossing the tracks, they stood on the platform that had so often symbolized the crossing from one school year to the next and stared out at Hogwarts.

"What the bloody hell?" Harry whispered.

Hermione covered her mouth and shook her head.

The last time they had seen Hogwarts, it had been rendered a pile of war-torn rubble. Standing now on the train station platform, they stared at the school before them restored to a state before the Hogwarts Battle. Darkness clung to the stone structure, the lights shining from the windows no longer giving off the warm feeling of coming home. An incredible sense of foreboding consumed their senses but they stepped off the platform and headed down the wooded path leading towards Hogwarts anyway.

The Dark Arts, when used in excessive quantities, leaves a mark in its place. Hogwarts held this mark, the grounds and surrounding areas holding a certain acrid reek that was unmistakable. It was cold, that night's weather having no calling upon the chill creeping along their skin. The DA Core kept to the shadows cast by the castle. They skirted around the front, creeping to the back of the building. Hermione stared up at the massive structure, any feelings of warmth leaving her body. Sharp tingles touched her skin, the sensation not at all pleasant.

_**There's something very dark about Hogwarts now**_, she said to Draco. _**I don't like this. What's happened to our school?**_

_** It's the Dark Arts**_, he responded.

She stepped closer to her bonded.

A series of windows sat along the back wall of Hogwarts on most days. Often, there would only be a blank wall depending on the daily configuration of the castle. This particular night, three open windows sat close to the ground, the corridor seen through the window empty and vacant. The DA Core took care, assigning look outs as they climbed through the window, dropping into the hallway with silent feet.

Where there had been portraits lining the walls now was nothing, bare stone with dimly burning sconces giving off only enough light to see what was right in front of you. The castle hummed and contorted, dark magic running through its stones and mortar instead of the pure, light magic that it had been built upon. In silence, they moved down the corridor, turning corners that had been familiar ages ago, a whole lifetime ago. Faint noise met their ears and the DA Core froze, melting into the shadows as a group of students passed by in an adjacent hallway. They moved in an orderly single file in complete silence. Their robes were black with a silver emblem embroidered where the Hogwarts crest had once been.

They passed and the DA Core moved on. With the front staircases filled with passing students, the DA Core watched momentarily as they ascended and descended the moving staircases.

"It's the middle of the night," Harry whispered. "_What_ are they doing?"

"Merlin only knows," Ginny answered.

"We need to move," Hermione said quietly. "It's clear."

Several times, the DA Core had to quickly dodge the students, slipping into empty classrooms and shadowed corners, their eyes watching. As they set foot onto the fifth floor, voices from the next hallway had them flattened against the wall, ears peeled and listening. In the distance, somebody screamed, a long and drawn out expression of prolonged pain that sent shivers through their bones. The voices drew nearer.

Alecto and Amycus Carrow strolled down the hallway, Amycus flicking a whip lightly against the side of his leg. His sister smiled softly and chuckled lightly, turning her head as another scream echoed down the hallway. She dismissed the scream and flicked her hair around.

"The Dark Lord is holding a meeting tomorrow night," she said. "He will be pleased with what we have accomplished."

"Do you suppose we should check on it?" her brother asked.

"Smithe and Bosworth is as safe a place as any," Alecto said, both pausing at the intersection of the two corridors.

The DA Core held their breath.

"Yes, yes, of course," Amycus replied. "The muggles will never know."

His sister smiled fondly. "I look forward to tomorrow tonight. Bellatrix says the Lord has a plan for Pettigrew," she said.

"As long as Pettigrew doesn't carry on like last time, I think I will enjoy it," Amycus said.

"As will I, brother," she responded.

They chatted briefly about one student or another before parting ways. Once out of sight, the DA Core let out a collective breath.

"Smithe and Bosworth," Harry said. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"It's outside the study's window," Draco answered. "And I would be willing to bet that there's something hidden there."

Exchanging glances, the DA Core all thought the same thought, the same single word: horcrux.

"But what was that about Pettigrew?" Hermione asked as they continued to creep along the hallway.

Harry shook his head. "No clue."

They moved on, slowly making their way to the seventh floor. Memories of a happier time flooded their thoughts, a time when freely walking the halls of Hogwarts wouldn't potentially lead them to death. When they reached the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, they paced the hallway several times, thinking strongly of the junk-packed room and Ravenclaw's lost diadem. The door appeared, and the DA Core quietly slipped into the room. Everything was as they had last seen it. Wading through piles of useless stuff, they found the diadem buried beneath a mound of crumpled parchment. Neville picked it up and Harry reached into his bag, taking out Hufflepuff's cup. Luna took Slytherin's locket from around her neck, shaking her head.

"It smells evil," she said lightly. "I'm glad to take it off."

Congregated in the center of the very large room, the DA Core placed the three horcruxes on the stone floor and circled around them. Hermione and Ginny grabbed the handful of basilisk fangs from their bags.

"Give one here," Harry said. "I'll do the first one."

"Wait, why you?" Draco asked, instigating an argument.

"Why not me?"

"No, really, why do you get to be first?"

"You want to be first, then, Malfoy?" Harry asked, holding out one of the blackened fangs to the blond boy.

Draco eyed the fang.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, didn't think so."

Reaching forward, Draco grabbed the fang, and taking the locket, jammed it into the heart of the metal in one motion. Nothing happened at first, and everybody held their breaths. Then, the locket cracked, expelling a burst of energy that cut through their flesh. An inhuman screech pierced their ears, darkness flooding the air around them. Then it stopped, the energy dissipating. Picking themselves up, the DA Core looked at the now broken piece of jewelery. Their eyes shifted to the cup and the diadem. Neville held out his hand.

"I'll do the cup," he said.

With the cup destroyed, Harry took the last horcrux in their possession and pierced it with the fang, the fractured soul howling and struggling to stay contained within. However, it was forced out with the poison of the Basilisk fang and destroyed. Once the room had gone quiet again, the towers of junk rising above them, the DA Core stared at the horcrux remains.

"That's it?" Ginny asked.

Hermione wiped at her forehead, her head starting to hurt. "Yeah, that's it."

Draco trailed a hand up her back, resting his hand at the base of her neck.

"Now we go find the next one," Harry said, standing up.

They focused their thoughts collectively on the Hide Away, the room of discarded and unwanted things dissolving and their old room appearing. It was just as they had left it, scattered school books, discarded robes, and all. They spent a moment meandering through the room, their fingers leaving trails through the thick layer of dust that had accumulated and allowing the sadness that welled up within their hearts. Hermione picked up one of the books on the table, glanced at the cover, and closed it. She shrunk it with her wand and placed it in her pocket. Draco glanced at her.

_**Found something you'd lost?**_

_** I'd been looking for it all over the place.**_

_** Which one was it?**_

_** Dragon Blood Uses and Other Applications**_, she responded.

He smiled, slipping his hand into hers as Harry opened the portrait. The DA Core climbed up onto the fireplace's mantle and into the tunnel. They intended to reach Haven and continue on to Smithe and Bosworth through the study window. However, pushing through the portrait on the other side did not bring them to the cozy sitting room in Haven, but to a windy and dark street. Shivering, they stood and stared as a few Muggle cars drove past. Turning around, they looked at the door to the office building they had just exited. Hermione reached for the door handle to open the door.

"It's locked," she said.

"Look," Ginny responded, pointing across the street at another office building.

"Smithe and Bosworth," Neville read.

"How does Dumbledore know these things?" Harry muttered.

"Why do you think Dumbledore's responsible for this?" Draco. "How could he?"

"How could he not?" Harry answered.

Draco considered Harry's answer and nodded. "Bloody insane is what it is."

As the astonishment wore off, the DA Core crossed the street and stood in front of the building. They craned their heads upwards, the moonlight reflecting off the dozens and dozens of windows.

"Hey, look," Ginny said, the whole group turning around.

"Hmm, how interesting," Luna said. "What do you suppose the chances are?"

Set into the pavement outside the building was a small bronze plaque, a plaque of such insignificance that one would guess that the majority of Muggles walked right over it on any given day. However, to the three witches and three wizards crouched around the plaque, it was anything but insignificant. It read:

**Edward Street Orphanage**

_In memorial of those lost in the fire of 1972._

"It has to be in there," Harry said. "It's got to be."

"There can be no other reason as to why things have played out tonight," Luna replied, drawing her wand and pointing it at the lock.

A simple _Alohomora_ granted them access to the empty office building. Quietly sneaking in, they closed the door and locked it. Machines hummed around them.

_**Computers**_, Hermione said to Draco, sensing his curiosity.

_**What do they do.**_

_** Lots of things**_, she answered. _**Here, though, mainly for data collection and storage.**_

_** Hmm, interesting**_, he said, touching one of the screens and then the mouse sitting quietly beside the keyboard. It blinked on, a screensaver whirling around in cycling colors. _**Muggles are weird.**_

_** Just different, love.**_

He snorted and shook his head, moving between the aisles of cubicles. Draco looked at the small, inane objects the Muggles kept at their workstations and the photos that never moved. He ran his hand through a dying plant one Muggle had on his or her desk. Pointing his wand at the plant, he muttered a spell, the plant coming to life. Purple flowers bloomed.

_**Draco!**_

_** What? It's not like they're going to say, "Oh, yeah, that was magic, definitely magic."**_

Hermione shook her head and laughed.

"Oi, gather round," Harry whispered, drawing the rest of his friend near to him. "We need to find that horcrux and we need to do it before dawn."

"Why dawn?" Draco asked, not following Harry's reasoning.

"Because Muggles start work early in the morning," he explained slowly. "Just like the Wizarding World. Are you following me, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it."

"Anyways," Harry said darkly, giving Draco a glare, "I say we should split up, Ginny and I, Neville and Luna, and Hermione and Malfoy searching different areas of the building."

Hermione nodded. "It'll be quicker, and if anybody finds anything send out a message with your patronus."

For hours they searched the office building, combing each floor back and forth but found no horcrux or even an inkling of an idea of where one might be hidden.

_**Maybe it's not here**_, Hermione said to Draco as they opened and closed each cabinet in the small kitchenette on the eighth floor.

_**It has to be**_, Draco said, craning his neck up to look at the ceiling. _**Why do Muggles feel the need to tile their ceilings?**_

_** What?**_ Hermione asked, gazing up at the ceiling. It was tiled uniformly in the fiberglass squares typical of office buildings. _**Oh, it's practical, I suppose.**_

_** Practical, how?**_

She didn't answer and only smiled softly at him.

_**No, really, how are they more practical? **_he said, wanting to know.

Still smiling, she studied the tiles, tilting her head from one side to the other. _**Hand me that broom over there, please.**_

_** Broom? Oh...**_ He handed her the broom that had been wedged between the counter and refrigerator.

Hermione jammed the end of the broom into the edge of one of the tiles, the corner popping up. She smiled.

Draco made a considering nose in the back of his mind and grabbed a chair, climbing up onto the counter that held a microwave and a few canisters of tea. He offered Hermione his hand and pulled her up. She pushed the tile upward and away, poking her head into the space.Dust floated around the electrical wires and pipes. Hermione sneezed, Draco grabbing the back of her shirt so she wouldn't fall onto the floor. Seeing nothing, they moved a few tiles down. Methodically, they moved through the eighth floor, Hermione sending out a patronus message to the others, reminding them to check above the ceiling tiles.

_**What are these called again? **_Draco asked later that night, the sky inky black and everything silent and still in the eerie manner of the early hours of morning.

Hermione, who hovered near the ceiling, Draco's wand trained upon her, glanced down.

_**Computer, **_she said.

_**Right. **_He fiddled idly with the things on the desk, moving things around. Pushing the mouse, the computer flared to life and Draco laughed. Leaning down, but keeping his wand hand aimed at his bonded, he squinted at the screen. _**How do they get the fish in there?**_

_** What? Fish?**_

_** Yeah, the fish here. **_He pointed at the screen.

She laughed. _**They aren't real. It's called a screensaver.**_

_** Screensaver? What does the screen need saving from? And stop laughing.**_

She continued laughing and Draco hastily lowered her to the ground, glaring at her. However, the expression only caused her to laugh harder.

_**They're pictures, **_she finally explained, _**like the tele you saw at my house a few summers ago. Remember.**_

_** Yeah**_, he said, gazing at the screen.

_**You take a turn up there**_, she said, changing the subject. _**The levitation spell's starting to make me go numb.**_

The sky had just begun to lighten when Harry's patronus charged through the cubicles. Hermione nixed the levitation spell on Draco, Draco's feet floating back to the ground.

"It's in the basement," his patronus said.

Hermione and Draco raced after the glowing stag, thundering down the stairwell, their feet pounding on the cement. Halfway down, they met up with Neville and Luna.

"I believe they've found the horcrux," Luna said, smiling faintly, her hair floating around her head.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked, looking to Neville who glanced at his wrist watch.

"Four thirty," he answered.

"Good, we still have time," she said.

The basement of the building was sectioned off from the rest of the building by a locked fence that allowed the DA Core access with a simple _alohamora_. A maze of rooms, their walls formed from dirty, old bricks, were filled with boxes upon boxes of papers. They found Harry and Ginny in the furthest corner of the basement, hunched over a hole in the ground, a pile of boxes overturned and a sea of papers washed over the floor.

"We were looking through the boxes down here," Ginny began to explain, glancing over her shoulder as they showed up. "I pushed this stack out of the way and it looked like the floor had recently been dug up." She smiled faintly, her cheeks streaked with dust. The basement was covered with a gray film of dust.

Harry kneeled by the hole, using his wand to excavate the dirt and rubble in the hole. "Look," he said, pointing.

Hermione peeked her head over his shoulder and at the smooth, silver object lying in the hole. "What is it?"

"Not sure."

Levitating it out, the DA Core recoiled in disgust.

"That isn't what I think it is...is it?" Ginny whispered.

"They had hoped Pettigrew wouldn't carry on as he did last time," Hermione said, remembering the conversation between the two Carrows at Hogwarts earlier that night.

"I guess this was last time," Draco remarked.

"Ugh!" Harry reacted, nearly dropping the silver hand. Instead, he hastily set it on the ground, backing away.

"Destroy it," Neville said, gesturing at Harry.

Taking several steps away, the DA Core circled the silver hand that had been torn from Peter Pettigrew's arm. Blood and bits of tissue still clung to the hand, shriveled and dried to the metal. Harry swallowed a lump of nausea and pointed his wand at the hand. Upon destruction, the silver hand exploded. Dropping to the ground, the DA Core covered their heads, slivers of metal, severed soul, and heat blasting through the basement. Someone screamed, but they were all silent. The screaming continued for what felt like hours before it finally stopped, the expected silence punctuated by a shrill siren.

"We've set off the security alarms," Hermione said. "We need to get out of here."

Just as a set of police sirens screeched outside, the DA Core disappeared one by one from the basement of Smithe and Bosworth, the horcrux destroyed.

* * *

The second to last memory was to be watched once the first five had been destroyed. They had been destroyed, and then some. The DA Core sat in the study, the memory swirling in the stone basin, hesitant to enter. However, the inevitable could not be avoided and eventually, they dipped their noses into the silver memory and were pulled into its reminiscences. Afterward, they remained in the study, Dumbledore's words echoing in their minds.

"There will come a time when Voldemort will fear for Nagini's life," he had said, staring into the black depths of the Potion Master's eyes.

"The snake?" Professor Snape had asked.

Gravely, Dumbledore had nodded.

Snape had left, his robes swirling out the door behind him. However, the memory had not ended. Instead, Dumbledore stood from his desk and reached up to grab the sorting hat from the top shelf. Holding the tattered hat in his hands, he considered it for several long moments before regarding the general air of his office and repeated what he had told Snape.

"My friends, your time has come. Have strength," he had said before the memory came to a close.

Neville took a deep breath and steeled himself, glancing at the torn and weathered sorting hat that had sat on the shelf in the study since Christmas, still and untouched. Dumbledore had given him that hat, the sorting hat, for a reason. What reason that was, he had not even the barest inkling of an idea.

One memory now remained, sitting on the shelf beside the pensieve and the DA Core regarded this particular memory with trepidation for it was labeled, _At the Last Possible Moment_. Things were coming to a close, everything was drawing together, and the inevitable was out on the table waiting to be met. It was the end.


	68. Denique Pugna

**Author's Note** - Yep, two chapters in one day. Aren't you lucky? Just one chapter left to go.

**Another Note** - The chapter title means, "The Final Battle," in Latin.

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Eight**

"Denique Pugna"

* * *

Night had long since descended, the house quiet, yet one of the DA Core was awake. She stood in the study, staring at the last memory. The finality in the wording scripted on its label chilled her fingers. Hugging herself, she turned to the doorway.

"Come back to bed, love," Draco said.

She regarded him. "Saying I'll come back to bed implies I've already been to bed tonight," Hermione said and sighed. "I can't sleep."

"The same dream?"

She nodded. "I can't get rid of it. It's been weeks since they've died," she said softly.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "It take time," he said. "Grief takes time."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but they were already tear stained.

"So much has happened and sometimes I forget," she said.

"Forget what?"

She made a small noise in the back of her throat.

"Forget what, Hermione?"

"That they're dead," she whispered. "We'll be in the middle of something, a mission somewhere, and I'll stop and look at the time and wonder where they are. If they're at work, or at home, making dinner, sleeping...But they're not. They can't be, because they're dead."

Sighing softly, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "I do that sometimes with mother," he said. "I just forget."

"Or Ron."

"Yeah, even I've caught myself doing that," he said.

"I'm scared, Draco. I'm really scared."

"Why?" He spun her around gently, running his hands down her arms.

"What if we don't survive this? No, no, don't say that we will, because you know just as well as I do that neither of us knows if we'll get through this alive," she said.

Draco sighed and sat down in one of the chairs, pulling her down into his lap. "I don't know that, Hermione. I don't know if we'll survive," he said. "There's a chance that one or both of us will..."

"No, don't say it," she said, cutting him off. "Please, just don't say it." Hermione buried her face in his shirt, gripping the fabric.

Draco held her as she held him. It scared him as well, not knowing if everything would turn out right in the end. He couldn't even begin to fathom what a life would be like with out her in it. After everything that had happened in the past few years, she'd become his family. They all were family, the DA Core, but Hermione was more than just that. She was everything to him and life without her just simply wasn't liveable. But he couldn't think about that, not now, not ever. Only if...

No, not even then.

"Draco?" she asked.

"Mmhmm?"

"Everything will be normal again after all of this is over, right?"

Draco sighed. "What's normal?" he asked morosely.

"Everything seemed so normal two years ago. Merlin, even a year ago," she said. "When did everything get so screwed up? Ron is dead. My parents are dead. Your mother's dead. Hogwarts is dark. We're in hiding. How did this all happen?"

He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, though they both knew exactly how it all happened.

"I wish we could go back to how things used to be. When we were just students."

"Back when the biggest worries we had were homework and exams?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah."

"Me too," he said quietly.

Nothing was said after that, each sinking into his or her own thoughts.

They had fallen asleep, each in the other's arms, the coo-coo clock in the kitchen announcing four in the morning when the entire household was woken by screams. Doors were thrown open, barefeet running through the hallway. Hermione and Draco fell out of the chair and scurried into the hallway. The screaming continued.

It was Harry.

Voices shouted, bodies cramming through the doorway into his bedroom. Hands reached out for him as his eyes snapped open, the irises of his eyes so bright they almost glowed. Panting and sweating, Harry struggled to get the words out.

"He...He's...broke through...I can't..."

"Calm down," Ginny said, gently touching his arm. "Just calm down. What did you see?"

After taking several lungfuls of air, Harry was able to form coherent sentences.

"He's waiting for us. In Hogsmeade," he said.

"Who?" Hermione asked, her fingers going cold.

Harry looked up at her. "Voldemort," he answered.

* * *

It was the last memory, the silver threads of recollection spinning and spiraling in the glass vial. In and out, they were, a time unmeasurable. Harry sat in the middle of the study.

"So, I have to die," he said.

"The fragment of Voldemort's soul, given to Harry on the day that James and Lily died, lives within him," Dumbledore had said in the memory to Professor Snape. "Voldemort can not truly die..."

"Unless the boy dies," Professor Snape finished.

"I have to die," he said again, as if those four words were of a difficult meaning.

"You're the last horcrux," Luna whispered, looking at Harry as if he appeared differently.

Harry hadn't been prepared for this. The DA Core hadn't been prepared for this. Silently, Harry stood up and walked out of the study and into his bedroom where he quietly closed the door. The DA Core waited for him. When he reemerged several moments later, he held the golden snitch in his hand, his fingers clenching and unclenching around it repeatedly. He held his head high and regarded his friends, determination set in his eyes. The DA Core met his look head on. They were ready.

They knew that a horcrux was a horcrux and there was no way around that.

* * *

For months Hogsmeade had been a ghost town, deserted and abandoned in the wake of the war. Now, however, it was alive, alive with war and violence. The battle had begun at midnight, Deatheaters, Order members, Dark followers, and Light loyalists appearing in the empty village as if on cue. Dozens upon dozens apparated into the cobbled streets, wands ready. Hours later, the village was in ruins, fires raging on the outskirts, but the battle continued.

The DA Core apparated into an alley, abandoned only by luck. They crouched in the shadows, getting their bearings and gauging the fighting going on in the streets. The noise was almost deafening. Screams intermingling with shouted spells, exploding cobble stones, and shattering glass. The heavy influx of magic thickened the air, creating a hazy fog over Hogsmeade. Over the cacophony, they heard the creatures and beasts in the Forbidden Forest howling, screeching, and wailing.

Neville knelt on the ground, the sorting hat clenched in his sweaty hands, trying to figure out what Dumbledore wanted him to do.

"Is that the sorting hat?" Draco whispered to him. "Why the bloody hell did you bring that?"

"D-Dumbledore was trying to tell me something," he said. "Something to do with the hat." He turned it over in his hands, his fingers running along one of its tears.

"What about the hat?" Ginny asked, crouching down.

"When Dumbledore willed me this hat, he said that I needed to gather up all my courage when things were most dire and finish things once and for all," he recited. Shaking his head, he straightened out the brim. "I just don't know how a hat will help me."

"Let me see it," Harry asked, still gripping the snitch.

Neville handed over the hat and Harry examined it. "I wish it would say something," he said.

"Yeah, it hasn't said a single thing since Dumbledore gave it to us," Hermione said. "How strange."

"Yes, strange, indeed," Luna remarked. "I wonder if Dumbledore instructed it to keep its seam shut."

Shrugging, Harry gave the hat back to Neville.

"It's a bloody worthless use..." Neville paused, his hand slipping into the hat. His fingers wrapped around something hard and his eyes bulged and he pulled the hilt and then the blade of a sword out of the hat. Mouth opening and closing wordlessly, he stared in awe.

"That...That's...That can't be," Harry uttered.

"Gryffindor's sword," Hermione said. "It's said only the bravest can draw the sword out of the hat."

Neville held the sword away at arm's length and then drew it closer. Carefully, he tested the weight of the weapon and the grip of it in his hand. It was heavy, but not unmanageably so. Standing up, he took a few steps into the deeper shadows of the alley and swung it a few times, the blade slicing through the air.

"Alright, I think this might actually help me," he said.

* * *

The tempo of the battle ebbed and flowed, rising and falling. Entering into the frenzied mix, word traveled fast that the DA Core was there. Harry pushed through the bodies, the snitch gripped in his hand, searching and searching for Voldemort. He cast spells and hexes and curses left and right almost without a thought. Ginny followed him, watching his back, her wand deflecting a hundred curses. Above, the upper windows of The Three Broomsticks exploded outward, showering the street in tiny shards of glass. Harry and Ginny ducked, covering their faces, and moved on.

He had to be there. This was the biggest battle yet in the war and Harry knew he was there. His scar itched and tingled, and as he flicked his wand left and right, he smoothed over the cracks in his shield. If there had been time, he would have been nervous, nervous of battle, nervous for his friends, nervous about dying. But, as there was no time, there was no chance to be nervous, no chance to feel, only time to act. It had to be done.

Behind Hogsmeade there was a field, the Forbidden Forest bordering it on one side. The battle had long since spilled into the field, the grass trampled and stained. Voldemort fought at the far end of the field and Harry and Ginny paused, ducking behind a mound of tumbled wall and blasted earth. He held the snitch in the palm of his hand and looked at it.

Ginny cast a temporary shield around them as Harry considered the golden snitch in his hand.

Harry knew about a snitch's flesh memory. This snitch was his, it's magic linked to his own. Inside sat the resurrection stone, the stone Dumbledore wanted him to have. As the battle screamed around them, the shield deflecting most of the hexes, he once again looked at the words engraved into it.

_I open at the close_.

He glanced up and across the field through the wavering light of the shield. Harry had faced death dozens of times in his life. However, the tone of his current situation had a marker of finality upon it. It was truly the end.

"Are you scared?" Ginny took his hand.

Harry considered her question for a moment. "No," he said, shaking his head.

Ginny's head throbbed and her stomach churned. "I am," she said.

He took her hand and pressed his lips to hers. "Please, don't be," he said.

A tear escaped her resolve and trickled down her face, dripping from her chin. "I love you, Harry Potter," she whispered.

"I love you too," he answered.

A trickle of sweat made its way down his face and Harry swiped it away, the snitch drawing across his lips in the process. The contact between the metal and his lips caused the snitch to hum, its wings beating. Harry looked at it in surprise as the snitch cracked open, and there sat the resurrection stone. Carefully, he picked it up, the black stone cracked down the middle as it had been the last time he'd seen it in Dumbledore's office. He placed it on his finger.

"Don't worry, Gin, I won't be alone," he said.

* * *

In the back of Hermione's mind, she worried about Harry. Running through the streets of Hogsmeade, dodging destroyed chunks of buildings and torn streets, she kept one eye on her surroundings and one eye on the sky above her where Draco soared and dipped. However, her mind was with Harry. Not all of them would survive tonight. It wasn't a chance or a possibility, but a given fact. Her best friend for the past seven years, the boy who had been her first friend in this new world, was currently walking to his death. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was soon to be The Boy Who Died.

Dashing around the corner of a building, she paused, her eyes casting upwards.

_**Do you see him?**_

_** They're in the field**_, Draco answered. _**Don't worry. I've got his back.**_

_** Is he ok?**_

_** Yes, for the moment.**_

Content for the moment, Hermione rejoined the melee of battle, her wand out and all thoughts pushed to the back of her mind. The Deatheaters swarmed Hogsmeade as did the Light supporters. With Draco's presence humming in the back of her mind, she fought onward, each black robed figure that hit the ground being killed in honor of Ron, of her parents, of Draco's mother, of everybody else that had fought and died, and, eventually, Harry.

* * *

Neville Longbottom fought like he had never fought before. One hand held his wand, curses and spells flying from it, while the other hand wielded the sword. He had never fought with a sword, but the moment the hilt dropped into his grasp, it seemed as if it were made for his hand. Racing through the side streets of Hogsmeade, he barreled through the Deatheaters, teaming up with Order members, Aurors, and Light followers. Luna kept his back, the corridors of her unique mind chugging out defenses left and right. She had to keep him safe for there was something he had to do, and only he could do it. Her mind opened to her, showing her what the night's events would tell in the morning.

In front of Neville, he watched as Remus Lupin dueled with two Deatheaters. Without even a thought, Neville stepped in, making the odds one against one.

"Neville Longbottom," Remus said, glancing quickly at the brown haired boy. The faint echo of surprise didn't pass Neville's ears.

"Professor," he said in response.

The Deatheater fell and Neville bound the robed figure in ropes. Luna stepped in and moved him to the side of the street where Aurors were transporting the captured Deatheaters back to one of the Ministry's new headquarters. With the old Ministry fallen under Voldemort's reign, those still loyal to Dumbledore and the light found other means to support their side of the war. There had been no one central headquarters for the Ministry, but dozens spread out through Europe.

"I'm surprised, Neville," Remus said, smiling at the boy.

"Surprised, Professor?"

"You're a true Gryffindor," he said, nodding at the sword. "It's been a long time since I've seen that sword."

Neville looked at the sword.

"The first war I pulled that same sword from the sorting hat," he said.

Again, he glanced at the sword.

"Your Gran will be proud," Remus said before dashing off, a hoard of Deatheaters invading.

Neville and Luna, once again, fought together. However, their battle would be cut short as an errant spell, red and hot, smashed into Neville. His body hit the side of Honeydukes as a second spell obliterated the wall. Chunks of stone and mortar fell upon Neville, burying him.

* * *

Draco circled the field as Harry crossed through the battle, three misty figures following him. Seeing him, the Deatheaters paused, gawking at him, but Harry moved on. Draco watched, his friend's face blank and stoic. Never would Draco have imagined that he would have formed a friendship with Harry Potter. So many years had been spent learning to hate and actually hating Harry. A waste, he now realized. All his life, he'd been lead wrong, his father's mind disillusioned. But now, watching Harry walk to his death, Draco wasn't surprised when a ball of emotion welled in his chest.

Glancing around quickly, Draco cupped his hands over his mouth and began chanting his friend's name.

"Potter! Potter!" he shouted.

Faces turned upwards, his words catching as it spread through the crowd. Deatheaters scowled, wanting to aim their wands upwards, but refrained only because their Dark Lord wanted a full audience when the end came near.

Swooping around, Draco watched as the masses parted, leaving Harry a clear path to where Voldemort stood. The Dark Lord spun around, delight and anticipation evident upon his serpentine features.

"Harry Potter! So, you've finally decided to join me in this fun night," he said, his thin mouth stretching into the resemblance of a smile.

"Let's just finish this," Harry said, wand at the ready.

"Finish this?" he asked. "But I was just getting started. Do you like what I've done with the Wizarding World? I thought I'd get your opinion."

"I think you know what I think, Tom."

"I am no longer Tom Riddle," he said, anger adding an edge to his voice.

"You are what you've always been," Harry answered.

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort hissed, teeth barred.

Harry dodged.

Draco caught movement below, his eyes flicking downwards for a split second. However, that was a split second too late as a Deatheater, spotting him above, aimed his wand. A bright curse flew from the wand and Draco took off. However, the hex seemed to follow him, tracking him through the night.

As if in slow motion, he watched as the curse hit him.

* * *

Hermione found herself sprawled on the ground. Her head felt strangely empty, as if something or someone should have been there. However, for all the magic in her, she couldn't remember why. Neither could she, as a matter of fact, fathom why she was lying on the ground. The fighting had died down and she carefully lifted her head. It swam and she plunked it down onto the ground again, her cheek resting in a patch of muddy grass.

What had happened?

The last thing she remembered was being in the middle of battle, her mind in a fuzzy haze of fighting.

Had she been hit?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she took several deep breaths and wiggled her fingers and toes.

Everything worked.

Keeping her eyes closed, she lifted her head and carefully got onto her knees. Folding in on herself, she knelt close to the ground, waiting for the strange swimming sensation that had taken up residence inside her head to fade. Getting unsteadily to her feet, she straightened up only to crumble onto the ground. Taking a moment to focus on simply breathing, she then tried again. On the fourth try, she was able to stand.

* * *

Blinking as the weight of the stones were lifted, Neville carefully got to his feet. His head throbbed and something wet and sticky ran into his eyes. Trying to walk, he soon found himself on the ground, a gradually growing pool of blood circling his left leg. A gash half the size of his wand ran up the front of his lower leg.

"Here, let me take care of that." Luna's soft voice washed over him in a daze.

He felt the cooling effect of a healing spell on his head and leg and looked up.

She offered him her hand, and he took it, staggering to his feet. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced through the rubble for his wand and the sword.

"Are you looking for this?" Luna asked, the sword in hand.

"Have you seen the elder wand?" he asked, taking the sword.

They searched among the rubble but found nothing.

"It has to be here," he said, pushing rocks and stones out of the way.

"_Accio_ elder wand," Luna said, wand pointed at the rubble.

Nothing happened.

Kneeling, he tore through the destroyed wall in a panic driven craze until Luna's cool hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"Finish what you came to do, and then we'll search for it," she said. "The end is near."

Neville stepped into the field, the elder wand lost, but Gryffindor's sword still in hand. Luna followed alongside him. People were packed in the middle of the field, their voices chanting something. As Neville strained his ears to hear their words, he was joined by swarming masses of Light followers.

"Potter! Potter!" they chanted, fists held to the sky.

He let them carry him to the center of the field, to where Harry and Voldemort were circling each other, offering each other taunts. Then, as if there were some unseen and unheard cue, they began to duel. Not even a dozen spells into the battle, their wands suddenly joined as they had three years prior during the Tri Wizard Tournament. The crowd watched on.

Off to the side, something caught Neville's eye. Voldemort's snake, Nagini, the last horcrux, lurked in the grass surrounding her master. Keeping his eye on the snake, Neville slowly circled around the circumference of onlookers, Gryffindor's sword a reassuring weight in his hands. Nagini slithered through the grass and Neville met her head on. Raising the sword, he knew what he needed to do now. He was going to finish it once and for all.

* * *

Hermione stood in the middle of the field, everybody around her frozen as they watched Harry and Voldemort. Bright light emanated from their joined wands. She blinked several times to clear her vision, swaying on her feet. Blood trickled down her face, making her hair sticky. She pushed it back with the palm of her hand, streaking blood across her face and joined in on the chanting.

It was a struggle before her between Voldemort and her best friend. Hermione knew neither would win but that the Light would not lose. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Everything felt numb.

A flash of metal caught her eye, and through the blinding battle between Harry and Voldemort, she watched as Neville swung Gryffindor's sword above his head and brought it down in a graceful arc. Nagini's head was cut clean from the rest of her body.

A chilling scream came from Voldemort, his body shaking.

Harry pushed against the power seeking to destroy him. In a great explosion, all the pent up power surging between Harry and Voldemort burst. Their bodies were thrown backwards. Harry landed limply in the grass, unmoving. Voldemort, as well, remained motionless.

Silence, utter and complete silence passed over everybody as if they couldn't trust their interpretation of what just happened.

Was it over?

However, when Lord Voldemort's body, all his horcruxes destroyed, disappeared, they finally keyed into what happened.

Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, The Dark Lord, was dead. Gone. Defeated.

As reality settled in and people began cheering, Hermione pushed through the swarms of people and stared at Harry.

He was dead.

Everything swam around her, voices ebbing to and fro and she stumbled backwards. Tripping over something, she landed hard on her back, and everything faded.

* * *

The sun rose early the morning after the final battle. Light streaked across the war torn field just outside of Hogsmeade illuminating the damage. The Forbidden Forest had burned during the night, blackened stalks of trees rising up to the sky. Off in the distance, the flames still raged, a small swarm of people racing along their edges, their wands trying to put them out. The acrid stench of smoke mingled with the heavy traces of magic, the air stifling with the mixture. It hung in a haze near the ground. Hogsmeade itself lay in absolute ruin, not a single building stood in the morning sun. The streets were gone replaced with piles of cobblestone and broken glass. Between the mounds of rubble, bodies lay where they had fallen the night before. Across the field there were more bodies, dozens of them. Medi-wizards combed through the masses, looking for signs of life.

Hermione opened her eyes, blinking into the light. Groaning, she turned over. Something wasn't right; something was very, very wrong. She felt strange, disconnected from her body. Her fingers and toes tingled with the sensation. A few paces away, a medi-wizard passed by her, his wand scanning the bodies around her. She reached up, trying to signal to him, but he didn't see her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she sighed. In all honesty, she didn't feel too terribly bad. Shaken, disconnected, and utterly confused, yes. However, pushing herself up, she found no difficultly in sitting up.

After a few minutes, she got to her feet. She swayed the slightest bit, but found no great trouble with the action. Then, putting one foot in front of the other, she began walking through the carnage.

Harry was dead. That she knew for a fact, but she had to find the rest of her friends; she had to find Draco.

His name passed through her mind and she unconsciously reached out to him, looking for his reassuring presence.

It wasn't there.

Pressing her lips together, she searched further, poking through her mind and riffling through her thoughts. Where was he?

Her heart began hammering and sweat glistened anew upon her skin. Panic quickened her footsteps, her mouth making out his name but her voice said nothing. Tripping and stumbling, she pushed her way through the medi-wizards, the Aurors, and the other survivors.

"Draco!" she shouted.

Hermione pushed bodies out of the way, searching faces. Tears began to well in her eyes.

This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. He couldn't be...be...

No, of course not, she reasoned with herself.

Coming to a stop at the edge of the field, she tried to catch her breath, black spots swarming across her vision. Slowly, she sank to the ground, her knees no longer supporting herself.

Think, Hermione, she said to herself. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Just think, she said.

The other side of the field. She hadn't searched the other side of the field. Unsteadily, she ran, tripping and bumping into the people. Time seemed to speed up and slow down all at once. The world spun around her and she couldn't get her bearings. Hermione ran in circles, crying his name, but nobody answered. Her head throbbed and her heart broke, literally broke. Her chest tightened and pain shot straight down her spine. She couldn't breath. Her lungs spasmed and she fell to the ground. Wheezing and choking for air, she let the sobs wash over her.

Minutes, hours, or days later, Hermione didn't know, she opened her eyes. Blinking through the blurriness, she stared at a bright spot of light not too far off. Her eyes shut and opened again, the spot of light coming into focus. It was sunlight reflecting off of a head of blond hair. She stared at the hair, soft strands blowing in the wind. It was awfully familiar. Then a terrible thought came to her, her bones aching and her insides withering. She knew that head of hair.

She crawled forward and cried, not the gut wrenching sobs of panicked fear but the heartbreaking cries of reality settling in. Hermione reached out a hand, her fingers burying themselves in the hair. Dragging herself forward, she pushed the hair away from the face.

Gray eyes stared up at the sky. His skin was cold, chilled with death, and his wings were crammed beneath him at an odd angle.

He was dead.

Hermione closed her eyes, sinking into the ground beside him. She searched her mind, one last futile attempt.

But he was gone.

* * *

**Another Note** - Yes, I had to do that. It serves a purpose. And might I say that Neville is a BAMF? Brownie points to those of you who know the meaning behind that. Cheers!


	69. Exordium Quispiam Novus

**Author's Note** - Wow, three chapters in one day. And here's the last one, the very last chapter of Fire Dragon. I've been planning this ending for years...ever since I wrote Draco and Hermione's first summer together, the one where Draco visits Hermione. It's not perfect, but I like it. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for all the wonderful reviews. This has been quite the literary adventure for me. If you're wondering, no, there won't be a sequel. Sorry, it's just not in my plan. Also, this is officially the end of my Harry Potter fanfiction career. I'm closing the door on this part of my writing adventure to focus solely on my other novel (and the others that will inevitably come after it)...the one I'm going to try to get published. So, without further ado, the last chapter of Fire Dragon. ::takes a bow::

**Another Note** - The title means, in very loose Latin, "The Beginning of Something New."

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty Nine**

"Exordium Quispiam Novus "

* * *

Draco was dead.

Hermione appeared in the middle of Haven's kitchen. The house was silent, empty. A few unwashed drinking glasses stood by the sink and someone had left the box of Wizard O's out from the previous morning. Had it really only been a day, a few hours since the final battle? In such a short span of time everything had changed.

Like the dead, Hermione stumbled into the living room. Draco was dead. Harry was dead. Ron had died. Her parents were dead. What had happened to the rest of her friends, the other members of the DA Core? Was there even a DA Core anymore? What were they now? What was she? _Who_ was she without them? Exhaling heavily, she sank down on to the floor, her face resting against the fabric of the sofa. Hermione closed her eyes.

This wasn't happening, she thought.

"Hermione."

Hermione shot to her feet and spun around, searching for the owner of the voice.

"Hello?"

She listened.

"Hermione," it said again.

Recognition dawned on her and her heart broke. "D-Draco?" she choked out, her ears straining.

Was he alive?

She took off, racing through the house, throwing doors open.

"Draco!" she called.

His voice continued to ring in her ears, the memory of him strong and compelling.

Hermione whirled around, tearing through everything around her, her mind hearing his voice but her eyes deceiving her. It just couldn't be true. Hermione couldn't believe he was dead. She stopped suddenly in the middle of the hallway. He wasn't dead. She knew he wasn't dead. How could he be dead? The love of her life was alive. He just had to be. Whichever fates were in control of her life would not and could not be as cruel as to leave her here on Earth without Draco. Hermione was convinced.

She searched her mind, rooted through all her memories and all the areas of her brain she could access on her own. He had to be there.

However, her thoughts seemed empty without the constant stream of foreign consciousness that belonged to him. Hermione felt empty and alone. She found herself in her bedroom and climbed onto the bed with the cautious care of one in pain and curled up on her side. If she closed her eyes, Hermione could almost imagine his arms wrapping around her, the soft feathers of his wings tickling her cheeks, and heat pouring into her body where his skin met hers. If only she concentrated enough...

_"Draco?"_

_ "Mmhmm?"_

Hermione curled in on herself, remembering the last conversation they had had together.

_ "Everything will be normal again after all of this is over, right?"_

_ Draco sighed. "What's normal?" he asked morosely._

_ "Everything seemed so normal two years ago. Merlin, even a year ago," she said. "When did everything get so screwed up? Ron is dead. My parents are dead. Your mother's dead. Hogwarts is dark. We're in hiding. How did this all happen?"_

_ He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, though they both knew exactly how it all happened._

_ "I wish we could go back to how things used to be. When we were just students."_

_ "Back when the biggest worries we had were homework and exams?"_

_ Hermione nodded. "Yeah."_

_ "Me too," he said quietly._

Homework, essays, exams, and school. It all meant nothing to Hermione now. Everything meant nothing. Burying her face into the pillow, she cried, hugging her belly as if it ached. And as such, she fell asleep.

* * *

Sometime the next morning, Hermione found herself falling out of bed. She landed on the ground, her hair askew. Voices came from the hallway, voices that belonged to Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Hermione panicked and for what she did not know why. Her eyes widened and her ears strained, and suddenly, she wanted nothing else than to be left alone. Even the mere action of having to speak to another person, talk about his death, about the fact that life must go on, brought sharp spikes of anxiety through her insides. Hurriedly, she got to her feet, closed her eyes, and disappeared.

She reappeared in the middle of a street, her arms pinwheeling to keep her balance. It had been risky apparating into the Muggle neighborhood in the middle of the day, but Hermione found herself not caring about anything anymore. Nothing mattered.

Looking up, she saw her house at the end of the street. Except it was no longer her house. With her parents dead, ownership of her house now belonged to a young couple with two kids. Toys scattered the front porch and somewhere a child was screaming. Hermione cautiously crossed the front lawn and stared at the house that was no longer her home. She closed her eyes against the memories that came, memories of growing up and memories of her parents. Hermione buried her face in her hands and sunk down onto the bottom step not caring what the new owners would say if they saw her.

Hermione had very little left in the world. In the briefest of timespans, nearly everything that had mattered had been ripped from her in the most violent and terrible of ways.

_ "Draco?" Hermione sat up, her eyes wide with alarm. "Do you smell smoke?"_

Her head jerked up and she dissolved into another bout of tears, unable to avoid the next memory that appears on the steps beside her.

_ Sniffing the air, Draco shook his head. "No."_

_ Hermione stood. "I do," she said, hopping down the few steps leading down to the ground. "Something's on fire." She turned and poked quickly through the bushes decorating the exterior of her house, her nose leading her like a Point Me spell._

_ Draco followed her, testing the air. "I still don't smell anything."_

_ Frowning, Hermione glanced back at him. "I did," she said, turning and heading back to the porch steps. "I'm sure of it…right here." She gestured to the steps where they previously lounged. Leaning down, she gave the steps two quick sniffs and frowned. "I know I smelled smoke." She glanced up at Draco. "Are you sure you didn't smell anything?"_

_ He shook his head. "Nothing," he said._

_ Biting her bottom lip, Hermione propped her hands on her hips. "I know what I smelled," she said. "I'm not barmy."_

_ Draco smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't know about that," he drawled._

_ "Oh, shut it," she said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder._

_ He chuckled and sat down. "Come on, Granger," he said. "Your overactive mind probably just imagined it."_

Hermione made a hasty example of disapparition and reappeared just outside the gates to Hogwarts.

The official memorial service for those who had fallen in the war was held at Hogwarts. Groups of people walked past Hermione as she stood in the middle of the pathway leading up to the castle, her eyes staring at the stone facade. Her palms began to sweat and her heart skipped a few beats. She turned and watched the people around her make their way to the castle, people she knew and people she didn't. They were all here for the same purpose. To say their goodbyes.

Reluctantly, she followed them, passing through the double doors. Once inside, she paused just to the side of the doors and closed her eyes. Hermione breathed, one hand rubbing across her forehead, willing herself to go on. She had to say goodbye.

However, when she opened her eyes, all she saw was the past. Her eyes became unfocused as an old memory came into focus. This was where it had all began in this exact spot so many years ago.

_ Running across the Entrance Hall, she crashed into another person, their legs becoming entangled, both falling to the ground._

_ "Watch where you're going, Granger," Draco Malfoy growled, his pale, blond hair in disarray and his eyes a wall of cold steel._

_ Hermione looked up in surprise and quickly extricated herself from the fuming Malfoy heir. Standing up, she brushed off her robes and watched as Draco go to his feet, sneering the entire time._

_ Running his hands along his clothing, he glared at her. "Filthy Mudblood," he shot out at her, his eyes cruel and awaiting her reaction._

_ "Really Malfoy," she said. "One would have thought you'd grown up by now." The scathing remark slid from her mouth easily, and before Draco could reply, Hermione turned on her heel and entered the Great Hall, letting the door slam behind her._

Hermione closed her eyes, covering her face with one hand. She couldn't watch any longer, the pain growing too great within her chest. If she focused, if she let her mind fall to the side, she could almost hear his voice, the scathing cadence that she had been greeted with. It was all just too much.

A few people entered the Great Hall for the memorial service, and Hermione barely spared them a glance and turned, her footsteps clipping along the stones. Though her mind wandered from one painful corner of her psyche to the other, her feet lead her to one specific place. Looking up, she sighed, realizing she'd taken herself to Classroom thirty-one. Her hand hovered over the door handle. Breath hitching in her throat, Hermione opened the door to Classroom thirty-one. Dust had long since accumulated, covering everything in a thick film of gray. Hermione let one of her fingers run through the dirt covering one of the desks, memories flooding her mind, so many memories, memories she loved and hated at the same time. Tearing her hand away, she held it against her chest as if injured. Her eyes drifted to the tall cabinet that still stood in the corner of the room.

_Draco shoved her out of the way, his wand out. "Bloody hell, Granger," he said as Hermione stumbled back, barely catching herself against the window sill. "Anybody would expect you to know a boggart when you see one," he said._

_ Hermione gaped at him and then the boggart as it began to shift into Draco's worst nightmare. She watched as the boggart lengthened, its hair beginning to lighten from blood-matted black to pristine blond._

_ "Riddikulus," he shouted, and the boggart, which had taken on the form of his father, soon found itself dressed in hot pink robes and swiftly shoved back into the cupboard, a whispered charm spelling the cupboard shut._

Hermione wrenched the cupboard open, an almost expectant look on her face. However, all that resided inside was more dust and a lone mouse that scurried out from the shadows. Her shoulders sagged. The boggart had been banished years ago.

Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, Hermione tried to breath. However, across the small classroom, two figures materialized, hunched over one of the desks.

_"Granger," he said once he noticed what she was drawing. "Stop drawing flowers on my quidditch game."_

_ "I'm not," she said. "I'm drawing them around your quidditch game."_

_ "Granger!" he shouted. "There are other desks to draw on."_

_ At a new, fresh desk, she began outlining a couple books, giving them titles and wings. A wand appeared in the lower left corner, tiny sparks coming from the tip, no doubt enchanting the flying books._

_ "Draco?" she asked after a few moments._

_ "What?" he answered back, his back still turned, focused on his drawing._

_ "Who're you going to the Yule Ball with?" she asked, giving the feathers on the wings definition._

_ "Why do you want to know?" he asked._

_ "I don't know." She shrugged. "Just curious."_

The ghostly figures disappeared. To her left, one of the desks burst into flame. It was such an odd thing to happen. Hermione stared at it, reaching out with one hand, only to have the flames disappear. She spun around and called his name, but he didn't answer because he was dead. However, a barest tinge of smoke hung in the air. She gripped her head, remembering when she'd first confirmed that he was an Ignius. Hermione closed her eyes, but the voices still came.

_ "That wasn't accidental magic…was it?"_

_ "You're…you're…" _

_ "Not human?" _

_ "I was going to say an Ignius."_

_ "I'm different, Granger. More different than you could ever imagine."_

She couldn't take it anymore. Hermione found herself wandering the hallways, avoiding teams of witches and wizards working to get Hogwarts functioning again. Darkness still clung to many corners of the castle, those particular areas partitioned off with spells and wards as they worked. Hermione, however, disregarded the warnings and traipsed through the castle. It seemed empty, not a physical emptiness, but one that resided in her heart. The DA Core was now a mere shadow of what it had been.

The seventh floor was warded off, an unnatural chill clinging to the air. Dark Arts had a tendency to cling to anything with a physical existence. She knew the Curse Breakers would have a hell of a time getting parts of Hogwarts still tainted by darkness back to what it had once been. The hair on Hermione's arms stood on end as she paced from one end of the hallway to the other, willing the door to the Hide Away to appear. Chills vibrated up her spine and she got a distinctive impression that someone was watching her. Her eyes slid to the side, watching for anything out of the ordinary. However, the hallway was empty.

The door appeared, and Hermione hastily entered into the familiar room, glancing behind her warily. With the door closing silently behind her, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Stray textbooks sat absentmindedly on one of the study tables, the chairs pulled out, as if someone had gotten up for just a moment and was to return. Hermione rested her hands on one of the chairs, her fingers wrapping around the wood, and pushed the chair in. She did the same for the rest of the chairs, stacking the few books into a neat pile. Her hand brushed through the coating of dust on the books, leaving faint streaks. On the wall, the Marauder's Map still hung as it had before Hogwarts had fallen. One corner was torn, hanging somberly.

Someone had left a packet of Bertie Bott's Beans on the coffee table near the fireplace. A few Wizarding magazines were scattered about, a lone shoe sticking out from beneath the table. Hermione looked at it and sighed. Then her eyes caught upon something else. Something black was partially hidden beneath the couch. Hermione knelt down, her fingers closing around one of Draco's feathers. A new wave of tears hit her unaware as her fingers ran along the feather. It was one of the soft, downy feathers from the underside of his wings. With it came another memory.

_ "Draco," she said. "Wake up."_

_ "Mmm…" Taking a deep breath, he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back._

_ "Come on, wake up," she repeated, poking him in the chest._

_ Peeking one eye open, he glared at her. "What?" he grumbled._

_ "You need to get up," she said._

_ Bracing his hands on either side of him, he went to push himself up, but paused, one hand resting upon a feathered wing. Eyes bulging, he stared at the newest addition to his body. Sitting up quickly, his wings following his movement, he craned his neck backwards to look at them._

_ "Your wings," Hermione said, a smile growing on her lips. "You got your wings."_

Something brushed against her arm as the memory ended. Hermione turned around, one hand touching the side of her arm. She glanced at her skin and looked about the room, but nobody was with her.

_"There's an oath we say," he explained. "I'll say it, and then we say it in unison."_

Hermione froze.

_ "Alright," she said, shifting slightly._

_ "Ego vestra cum tu ascio," he said._

_ Mouthing the words several times, Hermione committed them to memory._

_ "What does it mean?" she asked._

_ "I am yours, as you are mine," he answered. "Ready?"_

The back of her mind swelled and diminished in a familiar sense for a fraction of a second. Hermione turned cold, her consciousness groping about for the familiarity of Draco's presence in her thoughts. But he wasn't there.

More memories came, memories of the DA Core, of Hermione and Draco together, memories that proved to Hermione that nothing would ever be the same. The DA Core was broken, a fraction of what they had been or would ever be again.

Hermione closed her eyes and she could almost imagine all the voices that had once filled the Hideaway, voices laughing, arguing, discussing. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling more tired and spent than anything else. Remembering had taken its toll, and Hermione knew this was only the beginning. How could she live without her friends, without the DA Core, and most important, without Draco? Sighing, she ripped her hands through her hair. She couldn't live without them. The truth plain and simple.

Sighing again, she shook her head and left.

* * *

Later that day, Hermione found herself in the Great Hall, the great double doors closing behind her. She watched Ginny, Neville, and Luna from a distance. She wanted and needed her friends, but something stopped her, caused her to halt in the middle of her steps. They sat in the Great Hall at one of the long tables. People surrounded them and congregated in small groups scattered about the room. The memorial service had been earlier that day, Hermione avoiding the Great Hall, not wanting to deal with people. However, now that things had calmed down, many families having gone home, she emerged from her personal trip to hell and back and sought out what was left of her friends.

Luna looked up from her quiet conversation with Ginny and Neville and stood, slipping her hand out of Neville's. Her eyes drifted across the room and her feet lead her forward. Hermione smiled softly as her friend approached her.

"Luna..." she began.

Luna's eyes glazed over. "A single soul, when split, skews reality though an individual's eyes. However, when two halves become whole again, reality and the here and now become forever," she foretold.

Hermione froze.

Luna smiled and gestured at the far wall. "Go on, everything will be alright," she said before returning to the table with Ginny and Neville.

Hermione's eyes followed where Luna gestured. A great memorial had been erected in the Great Hall. Made of stone, Hermione stepped closer, her eyes watching as magic etched names into the stone, names of those who had died. Her hand reached out, her fingers running along names she knew, names of people she loved. Her friends. Her parents. Draco's mother. Draco. Her fingers followed the scripted formation of his name, tears brimming in her eyes for the millionth time that day. Hermione shook her head. Seeing his name written on the memorial seemed to cement the fact that he was dead in her mind. He was truly gone. It was over. She was alive and he was dead. And then her finger ran over the name scribed below his and her heart stopped.

_Hermione Granger_

She froze where she stood, her eyes reading the name over and over again until it held no meaning and only sounds arranged into syllables.

"I've been trying to tell you," a voice said behind her.

Someone took her hand, someone familiar, and the back of her mind opened, familiarity flooding through her. Hermione's knees grew weak and she found herself sinking towards the stone flags.

"It's alright. I'm here." Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione.

Hermione closed her eyes, wanting it to be true.

"It's okay," he murmured. "Everything's okay."

She clung to his arms, frightened that it was only an illusion, another memory coming to torment her.

"Hermione, look at me."

She shook her head.

"Look at me," he said again.

Her head bowed, and though his scent enveloped her, she was too scared that he was not real, that turning around to look at him would break the spell and she would be alone again.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispered.

_**You're not.**_

_** I'm scared you're not real.**_

_** I'm as real as you.**_

Hermione smiled slightly.

_**Just look at me, love, and you'll see.**_

Reluctantly, she let him go and stood up. Turning around, Draco stood before her. He grinned.

"See, as real as can be," he said, gesturing to himself.

Hermione laughed, tears streaming down her face. The laugh turned to cries and she soon found herself sobbing uncontrollably.

"Hey," Draco said, drawing her into his arms. "Why're you crying?"

"I'm dead?"

"Unfortunately," he said.

Teary eyed, she gazed up at him. "But you're here."

He nodded. "I'm here," he said. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Where'd everybody go?" Hermione asked then, looking around the Great Hall. It was empty except for the two of them and the war memorial.

Draco glanced about the room and shrugged. "The living come and go," he said. "But that doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?"

"No." He held out his hand. "Come on."

She took his hand. "Where're we going?"

Draco grinned mischievously. "Potter and Weasley are around here somewhere," he said.

And with that, they left the Great Hall, beginning something new.


End file.
